


The Case of The Sinister Spider

by ironfamjam



Series: Irondad Bingo [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adoption, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Detective AU, Elementary AU, Episodic mysteries with an over-arching plot, Gen, Irondad Bingo 2019, May Parker (Spider-Man) Dies, Past tonynat, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is a recovering alocholic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 124,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironfamjam/pseuds/ironfamjam
Summary: In New York City, Peter Parker finds his entire life up-ended when he gets a phone call informing him of May Parker's tragic accident. But when new evidence comes to light proving foul play, no one in the NYPD will give Peter the time of day.No one that is, except genius consulting detective on probation, Tony Stark. But Tony has his own demons to fight. Struggling to maintain his sobriety after a tragedy in London forced him overseas, Tony learns that what mends hearts might not be at the bottom of a bottle, but something like a string of unsolved murders and perhaps even love.Or, the Elementary AU no one asked forIrondad Bingo Prompt: May Dies





	1. The Murder of May Parker

Fury stares him down, his one eye tunneling through his words to grasp at his intentions. Tony sits very still. Back straight. Attentive. Not shirking away from the intensity that threatens to reveal him whole. 

Fury stares some more, then cracks a grin and leans back into his chair. “Tony Stark.” he drawls, “Never thought I’d see you again.” 

Tony quirks his brows. “Never thought I’d come to this side of the world either.” 

The blare of honking drivers and the faint thrum of the subway reverberate in the New York City air. Tony breathes through it, his hyper-sensitivity forces the scratching of Officer Blair’s Lotto card from the next room into his ear-drums, he hears the sound of two copiers churning out the contents of police files, a woman laughing into the phone. The NYPD’s seventh precinct has never once been quiet, but the cacophony of it all suits Captain Nick Fury just fine. 

Tony thinks he could get used to it. 

Fury’s tone says relax, but Tony’s in the lion’s den and he isn’t one to forget it. “You staying here for the next while?” Fury asks, hands clasped over the desk. 

“Permanently.” Tony says immediately. 

Unconsciously, his fingers grip into the handles of his chair. Fury’s eyes dart to his tense knuckles but they’re back on his face just as quickly. “Okay. Anything I need to know about?” he stares at him meaningfully but Tony doesn’t take the bait. 

His jaw tightens. “Nothing you haven’t already snooped out.” Tony’s foot starts shaking, something antsy crawling all over him. “Are we done yet? With all this have my daughter home my eight stuff or can we get to what’s actually important?” 

Fury almost looks amused. “And what might that be?” 

Tony stands up, plants both hands on his desk. “The case.” 

\------------------------------------------

“Peter! Have you seen my keys? They’re not on the thing!” 

Twisting his lip, Peter pauses mid-bite. “I think…maybe…wait didn’t you put them in your jacket yesterday?”

May smacks a hand to her forehead groaning. Peter snickers into his cereal, “Peter make sure you always put your stuff back in the same place.” he mimics, laughing at her half-hearted glare.

Hands on her hips, May tries to look stern but she can’t help but laugh, “Way to kick a girl when she’s down Pete.” 

Peter flashes a cheeky grin before May runs back into her bedroom, pulling out her spring jacket and digging into the pockets with a quick, “Aha!” before rushing back to him.

All at once, the light-heartedness in her eyes fades and something haunted clouds the brown of her eyes. May looks at him for a moment, imperceptibly biting her lip before taking three steps towards him and pulling him in for a tight hug. “May?” his fingers grip the back of her shirt.

He feels her take a deep breath from where she’s pressed against his shoulder before she pulls away slowly. “Is everything okay?” he asks again, gentler this time.

Her smile is small, but she brushes the hair from his eyes like she’s done a thousand times before and Peter has the strangest feeling that he should be trying to memorize this moment. “Nothing sweetie. I just really love you, you know that?” 

Peter smiles, a little wary, a little touched, “Yeah. I love you too May.” 

She smiles at him again and he watches her leave to work with questions in his eyes. “Are you coming back at seven today?”

“Earlier probably.” There’s something weird in how she says it, but Peter can’t put his finger on it. 

“Ok great! I’ll make some pasta or something and we can eat together.”

May shoots him a grateful smile before waving her goodbyes. The door clicks shut behind her and Peter finds himself faltering in the silence. May was usually an open book, but today- not just today- the past while…she’d been keeping something back. Not hiding, just…keeping. He’d ask her about it tonight. Whatever it was, maybe he could help her. Or at least try. 

Resolved, Peter quickly washes his dishes and grabs his backpack. School first, then Decathalon practice, and then May. Yeah, that sounds good. He has all the time in the world. 

\---------------------------------------

“You’ll be working with Detectives Rogers and Odinson. I figure out of everyone here, they’re the least likely to punch you in the face.” Fury says with a wry note.

Tony looks unaffected, used to that kind of reaction ever since he started doing what he’s doing. Police detectives didn’t tend to take kindly to snarky consultants with three times their IQ. But that’s the way the world works isn’t it? 

Rogers is tall, stern, the perfect all-American boy. Odinson, in contrast, is broad, buoyant, and smiles so wide Tony thinks he has a condition. He can already picture it now. Rogers, the no-nonsense, by the book cop who gets worn down by the puppy-like excitement of his partner who teaches him to soften up. Resisting the urge to grimace, Tony tries to present a somewhat neutral image of himself when Rogers glances up at him, eyes judgy and ascertaining. “You must be Stark.” he holds out his hand, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah I get that a lot.” Tony replies, grasping his hand and hiding his wince when Rogers squeezes hard. 

Odinson surges forward, a hard look in his eyes and Tony gets a flash of a storm. The man looms over him, close enough that Tony can see the tiny scars on his collar. Odinson stares at him. Tony stares right back. “Is this the part where you ask me out or am I just that out of your league?” 

Odinson blinks before he booms in laughter. Clapping Tony on the chest, the detective looks oddly pleased. “I like this one.” he glances down, something teasing in his eye, “Bit smaller than I thought you’d be. Didn’t you take down a mob in London?” 

Tony makes a face. “And you’re a lot more giant than I thought you’d be. NYPD hiring Harry Potter characters?” 

Fury makes a rumbling sound in his throat. “If we could all get off the testosterone train for a second, we have a crime to get to.” 

Tony nods, at full attention, “Send me the location. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Sounds best.” Rogers nods and if Tony cared more about what people thought about him, he’d say he didn’t like that hard stance, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like Tony was a criminal who ran out on bail.

“Great.” he replies, in false cheer, “It means so much to me that you approve.” 

Tony strides out the door, calling a taxi and flashing him the address on his phone. He isn’t here to make friends. He doesn’t even need them. Never has. He’s just here to solve crimes. One more distraction so he doesn’t think of her-

No. 

No more of that. 

He has bigger fish to fry anyway. 

He arrives at a cul-de-sac in a nicer end of town. The house is large, a well-maintained front lawn hosting an array of shrubbery and flowers meticulously groomed. Tony’s senses go into hyperdrive. The smell of the gardenias, the number of windows, no marks on the ground. He catches sight of a muddy footprint, slammed into the front door as though to break it open. He can see the wear on the hinges, the streak of the mud as the man slid his foot off. Size eleven. Boot style. 

Fury steps in front of him. “First respondents found signs of a struggle in the kitchen and in the master bedroom.” Tony makes no sign of listening, pulling out his phone and typing quickly.  
“But no Ms. Delaney.” 

Tony pauses. “Ransom demand?”

Fury shakes his head and Tony frowns like he’s in thought before walking past him and the other detectives crowding around the kitchen. The detectives are already inside, but Tony heeds them no mind. He traces his way through the house imagining dozens of scenarios all at once, eliminating each one the evidence disproves it. He heads straight to the living room, examining the bland art all rich people had on their walls, but pausing at a set of photographs hanging neatly in a 3x3 grid on the wall. The first column has two rectangular frames of couple photos, the middle column two oval frames with just who he assumes is Mr. Delany, and the final column another set of rectangular couple photos. 

He can sense Fury watching him and he’s proven right when moments later he asks, “What is it?” 

Tony doesn’t look back at him, peering at the photos, something odd tickling him but nothing specific. “Not sure.” he admits.

Fury scoffs. “That’s a first.” 

“I guarantee I still know more than the rest of your detectives combined though.” Tony turns around, a challenge in his raised brows. “Wanna bet captain?” 

Fury raises his hands in the hair, “Hey, hey, I’m just here to facilitate your re-entry. No need to go all feral.” 

Tony gives him a look before staring at the pictures again. “Did you find her phone yet or is that still gone too?”

A detective Tony hasn’t met yet- nor does he want to- rushes over to hand it to Fury when he asks and Tony wastes no time going through it to find what he needs. He slides through Ms. Delany’s photos, an attractive women in her thirties with dyed red hair and compares them to the ones on the wall. “Alright so she either lost a crazy amount of weight in what has to be two weeks, which is ridiculously unlikely, or she had a crazy amount of plastic surgery in the past two years.” Tony clicks the phone shut. “More likely.”

Fury squints. “She looks the exact same in both photos Stark.”

Tony whirls around, holding a finger in the air. “Exactly.” he gestures to the wall. “Look at the frames. The oval ones are older, been here longer, but the square frames are newer. And which ones feature Ms. Delaney.” Fury flattens his expression. Tony raises a brow, “You didn’t start believing in coincidences since I’ve been gone have you Captain?”

Fury gives him half a scoff. 

“Alright look.” Tony pulls out her cellphone again, “She has tons of pics of herself all pretty and glamorous, but after two years? Poof. Not a single photo. But there are tons of everyone else. Surgery.” he singsongs. 

Fury still looks unconvinced, but Tony really doesn’t need Fury’s approval and stalks off, bending at the carpet to sniff at it, waving his hand to waft up any lingering scent. Everything is a clue and yet no one ever seemed to look. 

Standing up abruptly, Tony decides to join the party in the kitchen, walking in on Rogers scribbling in his notebook while Odinson stares at the glass shards on the floor. There’s a smear of blood next to the pieces and the glass appears to be the remains of a cup. Rogers looks up from his notepad, looking at him like he doesn’t belong, but Tony ignores him, “Fury! Get in here!”

Rogers snaps his notepad shut, crossing his arms and shifting his stance to express his disapproval. Tony rolls his eyes. Odinson steps back, cocking his head like Tony is a circus trick he’d been wanting to see all day. All right. They wanted a show? He’d give them a show.

Tony steps back, planting his feet apart, hands clasped in front of him. “Get ready to be blown away kids.” with a dramatic flourish, Tony points to the glass. “Ms. Delaney knew her attacker. She let him right in actually.” 

Rogers scoffs, “Captain are we seriously going to waste our time-”

Tony carries on like Rogers hadn’t said anything at all. “There are two broken glasses on the floor, if you had bothered to count the number of shards you probably could’ve deduced that yourself, but,” Tony shrugs, his expression unreadable, “obviously, she was pouring a glass of water for her guest before he assaulted her.” 

Rogers nods condescendingly, “Right, yeah, that makes sense. That’s exactly what I would do after some guy busts down my door.” 

Rogers stares him down until Tony sighs, crouching to the floor to dig around under the fridge before pulling out a solid piece of the cup; the perfectly intact base that matched another base in the pile on the floor. “Two bases. Two cups Mr. Skeptic.” 

Odinson grins a little. “Alright Stark. Two glasses. But how do you explain the footprint?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Pulling out his phone, Tony holds out the snapshot he took of the footprint. “If you look closer, you can see a drop of blood near the sole. I guarantee if you run it through the lab it’ll turn up a positive for Ms. Delaney’s blood. And?” he holds out his arms, “How could that blood have gotten there?” 

Rogers scowls. 

Tony grins. “The blood on his shoe is proof that he made that print _after_ getting to our victim. Not before. That means she knew her attacker and he tried to hide it.” 

Tony steps out the kitchen, patting Rogers on the chest, “Don’t worry big guy, you’ll catch up.” 

Tony’s halfway to the living room before he calls out, “Oh. And he took something too. Where’s Mr. Delaney?” 

A sheepish man with round-rimmed glasses and a tweed coat is brought into the room. Tony wastes no time. “Over there, on that table. Something’s missing. What?”

“How could you possibly know if something was missing?” Rogers bites.

Tony makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, his antsy energy giving him a spazzy quality as he walks to the centre of the room. “If you could pay attention, you’d see that everything in this room is perfectly symmetrical. Two side tables, six picture frames, three decorative objects, only two there. Something’s missing. You can even tell from the slight discolouration of the wood.” impatiently, Tony turns back to Mr. Delaney, “Well?”

“I-I, yes. There was…That was where Annabelle kept her mother’s music box.” 

Just like that, Tony’s lively demeanor disappears. He looks almost deflated, like he had heard something he expected but still wished were unreal. “I see.” 

Ignoring everyone, Tony turns immediately for the stairs. He finds the bedroom with no trouble. Predictably, the rest followed. “This isn’t a kidnapping case anymore.” Tony looks at the bed sheets in disarray and the lamp pushed from its place on the bedside table. “It’s a murder.” 

“Stark, you’ve been right so far. But there’s no body.” Odinson says, scrutinizing the rest of the room. 

But Tony can’t stop looking at the lamp and there’s the scent of blood in the room. He can’t see any. But he knows it’s there. The hypersensitivity of his nose won’t let him be until he finds it. His eyes draw back to the lamp. He jolts, swiveling around to face the detectives. He holds his arms out like a child trying to fly and skids down the room before shaking his head and trying again. 

“Captain-” Rogers says, no doubt trying to complain more, but Fury just raises a hand, watching Tony silently.

Tony slides down again before stopping, an eerie expression on his face. “She’s in the safe room.”

“What safe room?” Fury asks, voice low. 

Tony points behind him. “The one behind that wall.” he says, nonchalant. 

Rogers uncrosses his arms, stepping forward. “Her husband didn’t say anything about that.”

Tony shrugs. “He probably didn’t know. But look,” he plucks a marble out of the decorative bowl across them, “all that reinforced steel makes the floor just the slightest bit uneven because of all that extra weight.” He drops the marble, eyes locked on it as it rolls slowly but steadily down towards the wall. 

Eyes drawn again to the lamp, Tony shoves his fingers behind the night stand, fiddling around until he found what he was looking for. He presses the switch and the wall behind him moves to reveal a small steel room. The marble rolls inside before coming to a complete stop as it gets trapped in a pool of blood.

Annabelle Delaney’s eyes are vacant. 

Tony looks away. 

“I don’t usually hope I’m wrong…but this time, I really wish I was.” 

\--------------------------------------------

“Alright so a little bit of salt…” Peter mutters to himself, tossing in a dash or two into the boiling water before stirring in the pasta. 

“Ok Google, set timer for eight minutes.” His old Galaxy 4 vibrates as the command goes through and Peter leaves to go sit at the kitchen table, filling out math homework sheets while he waits for the food to cook.

He’s lost in thought solving quadratic equations when his phone blares violently. Jolted from his focus, Peter grabs the phone, relaxing when he sees General Heart Hospital as the caller ID. Oh. Just May then. He doesn’t know why she’d call from her work rather than use her cell, but Peter answers the call, a smile on his lips. “Hey May, what’s up?” 

The person on the other line takes a breath. It sounds almost sad. “Is this Peter?”

Peter furrows his brows. “Marisa?” 

Marisa’s one of May’s nurse friends. She’d been over a few times, enough for Peter to vaguely remember the way she speaks, but he has no clue why she’s calling. “Peter, you need to come to the hospital. It’s May.” 

Peter’s entire world dissolves.

“She’s been in a car accident. And it’s…” Peter doesn’t want to hear it. 

Absolutely cannot hear it. Not May. Not to him. Not to them. “I’m coming. I’m coming. Please- just- just-”

“We’re going to do our best Peter.” Marisa promises softly.

But Peter already knows it won’t be good enough. It never is with the Parkers. And always, always. He’s the one left behind. 

Peter sprints the entire way. He’s restless on the subway, jumpy and frantic. When he races into the hospital, he navigates the familiar halls until he gets to reception. Hala’s expression saddens, a weathered strength of constantly losing and saving souls in her eyes. “She’s in surgery, you know where to go.” 

Peter doesn’t have the capacity to remember to be polite before he’s running down the hall. He turns the corner, bumping into a doctor, a built guy twice his size with a forester type beard and unexpressive eyes. Peter mumbles an apology, not really caring much about anything until he gets to the surgery wing. He collapses on the waiting chair. Someone comes to talk to him. The clock is ticking in the background. The tears blur the ugly table and magazines and other crying people. 

Peter doesn’t know how long he waits. 

He can’t feel much of anything anymore. He replays their final moments together. Not bad. Sweet. Tender. Not enough though. Should have been more. They deserve more. May. May. May. He just wants his aunt. He just wants May. 

Peter’s head falls into his hands.

“May Parker?”

Peter chokes. Launching upwards, all but running in the surgeon’s direction. “Yes. Me. That’s me. I’m Peter. Her nephew. Is she-is she okay?” the surgeon looks like he’s about to frown, give his typical I’m so sorry we did everything we could speech and Peter shakes his head, “No-please. Please don’t tell me-”

“Peter, I think we should sit down.” 

Peter can’t feel his legs. He can’t feel his own heartbeat. He’s led back to the waiting room chairs and he falls into the seat. Just…falls. “Peter, your aunt was involved in a car accident. On-lookers say she was acting erratically in the car right before it happened. She lost control of the wheel and crashed into the side of a building.”

Peter gapes. What the- what the _hell_ is this guy saying to him right now? May is-was? No, she- she drove more safely than anyone Peter knew. And she would never- she would never do that- that wasn’t- that wasn’t _her_. 

“What does that even mean? That doesn’t make any sense.” he insists, trying to show the universe it was wrong- it was wrong to take May Parker because this wasn’t supposed to be how it ended. It wasn’t.

The surgeon softens again. “Peter…were you aware that your aunt was on anti-depressants?” 

Peter’s face slackens. Incredulity written in every sharp edge. “ _What?_ ” 

“First responders found a prescription bottle for bupropion in her purse and judging from the medication label and the quantity, it seems she was taking more than the recommended dose. We tested her blood and it confirmed our hypothesis. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of the medication is inducing first-time seizures in individuals not typically pre-disposed to them and based on witness statements, we believe this was all a tragic mistake.” 

Peter stands up, legs quivering. “Of course this is a tragic mistake. You- you don’t know her. She wasn’t depressed and she wasn’t taking medicine and she- this makes no sense! This makes no goddamn sense!!” Peter’s yelling now and he’s making a scene but he can’t help it because this isn’t right, it isn’t right.

“Peter-”

“No!” Peter rips his arm away, running back down the hall intent on finding Marisa.

“Ms. Hala. Ms. Hala, I need Marisa, where is she? I need to talk to her. Please.” the receptionist frowns, glancing at him and then the screen, conflict in her eyes.

“Peter I’m not sure-”

“Ms. Hala _please_.” 

She stares at him a bit longer before acquiescing, looking through the schedules. “She should be attending the fourth floor today.”

Peter runs two steps a time yelling Marisa’s name. He finds her when she pokes her head out, tears filling her eyes the second she sees him. “Oh Peter.” her voice wobbles and suddenly he’s in her arms. “I wanted to find you after I heard but I needed to stay here.” 

He pulls away quickly. “It’s fine.” he says, cavalier, “Did you hear what they’re saying about her? About May?” 

She stares at him wide eyed. “Peter honey what are you-”

“Was she taking anti-depressants?” Peter pushes, every part of him pleading.

“I don’t- I don’t know Peter. I don’t know. But they found the bottle in her purse and May’s been-” pain paints a shadow across her face, “May had been acting weird for weeks now. It wouldn’t be the most surprising thing.”

The world freezes around him. May _had_ been weird. Evasive, paranoid, scared. She said she had to take care of something. Something important that she couldn’t tell Peter. Did she mean this? Her mental health? Depression?? Why wouldn’t she have said anything? Why wouldn’t she tell _him_?

He must’ve said it out loud because suddenly Marisa has him in her arms again and she’s patting his head. “Oh Peter. She probably just didn’t want you to worry.” 

But that’s _bullshit_ and Peter pulls away. “No. This isn’t right. It isn’t right!” and he turns in the other direction and runs as fast as he can go. 

He squints as the sunlight pierces through his eyes as he surges out the hospital, fumbling to pull his phone out of his pocket. He calls an Uber and feels clenched right down to his atoms as they drive down the crowded New York city streets. They pull up at his apartment and he storms into it, throwing open his door as though he can find answers where there were none before. He stumbles inside, everything in the apartment hurts him now. Taunts him. Every surface is a memory of May and he can’t deal with that right now. 

Not now.

Not ever.

How was he supposed to move on when everything was wrong?? 

He bursts into May’s room, determined to find something to prove- to prove what? Peter stops, his breathing heavy. If May’s crash wasn’t an accident, then that meant it was a…Peter shakes. He doesn’t know which one is worse. May was a nurse. She saved people for a living. She was kind and funny and witty and down-to-earth and it couldn’t be possible…

Peter tears apart her room anyway. 

He throws open drawers and rifles through her things and ransacks anything that could hide a secret worth killing over. Finally, he finds it. 

It’s a medical file, swiped from the hospital. George Miller. Age seventy-three. Died from heart failure. Ruled: natural causes. It’s May’s handwriting. Peter knows it. He flips through to the bottom where the previous notes are and finds his brows furrowing. May had combed through her notes, highlighting as she went. George was fine, feeling good that morning. And then died of a heart attack two hours later. 

And that isn’t suspicious. People die all of the sudden every day. But May’s hand-writing is frantic in the margins _WHAT ABOUT THE ISCHEMIA?? WHAT ABOUT THE MARK??_ It was underlined four times. 

Peter drops the file, pulling out his phone and googling everything he didn’t know. Ischemia: reduced blood flow preventing the heart from receiving oxygen. A severe blockage of one of the heart’s arteries that can lead to a heart attack. Peter squints, so then it was natural. 

Peter flips back in May’s notes, where she’s highlighted the epinephrine dose over and over. Something connecting in the back of his mind, he googles ischemia ephinephrine and is bombarded by academic journal after academic journal detailing the link in adrenaline causing ischemia…and leaving that distinctive mark. It wouldn’t have been possible for the epinephrine given _after_ the heart attack to save the man to cause the ischemia. There would have had to be more of the drug in his blood for to it have that lethal effect. That means-

Peter falls to the floor. 

George Miller was murdered. And May had figured it out. 

\--------------------------------------

“I’m telling you it wasn’t an accident!” Peter’s yelling in the middle of the NYPD seventh precinct and twelve hours ago he would have died at the thought, but he can’t be stopped now.

The detective, Rogers, he thinks, tries to drop a comforting hand on his shoulder but Peter shirks back, glaring. “Son. I know it’s hard when a loved one dies but we did all the checks-”

“You evidently didn’t- if you had, you would have seen this!” Peter waves the file in Rogers’ face but the man doesn’t lose his cool, just keeps giving him that same placating face.

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

Peter can hear the door to the captain’s office open and close shut and hopes he isn’t going to kick him out. But Peter has to keep trying. He has to. The only thing keeping the grief that threatens to consume him whole and leave nothing at all is his mission to bring his aunt justice. “What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? It says so right in the file! George Miller was murdered and it looked like an accident because the epinephrine that killed him got disguised by the epinephrine the doctors used to resuscitate him!” 

Rogers narrows his eyes, his arms unclenching from where they were crossed at his chest and Peter thinks finally he’s gotten through to him when the file is snatched from his hand by someone behind him. Peter whirls around, gaping at a man with the most chiseled goatee, skimming over the file, lips pursed. “Your aunt. How did she die?” the man says and Peter’s too taken aback to tell him he really doesn’t have any authority to go asking questions.

“A car accident.”

“And you think someone tampered with the car?”

“No. Someone put a bottle of anti-depressants in her purse- um, bu-” he frowns.

“Bupropion.” The man supplies.

“Yeah…that. They said she took too many of the pills and she had a seizure in the car so she lost control. And then she-” Peter trails off, just looking at the man, expression saying it all. 

The man frowns, lip tugging in sympathy. “I’m sorry kid. But if it makes you feel any better, you’re right.” 

Peter’s eyes widen. His heart hammers in his throat. “What?” 

The goatee guy snaps the file shut, staring him right in the eye. “The man, Miller, he was murdered.” 

Rogers stands up, “Stark you really think it’s a good idea to say that to him right now?” 

The man- Stark- tilts his head like a challenge, “Say what? The truth?” he looks back at Peter, completely ignoring the detective, “I’ll take your case. I’m waiting for some DNA evidence anyway. You have school or something?”

“N-no sir.” 

“Great. Then you can come with me to the hospital. Fill me in on absolutely everything you know. Even the smallest detail could be important.”

The man turns abruptly, speed-walking out of the bullpen and Peter jumps to match his pace. “Wait. Are you a detective here?”

The man curls his nose. “God no. I’m a consultant.”

Peter’s expression scrunches. “So like…you consult on crime?”

The man sighs. “I’m what they call the department’s last resort. A tricky case no one has the handle on? They call me.” he glances at Peter from the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry. You’ll see the show soon enough. But for now, all you need to know is that I’m Tony Stark. And I’m going to catch whoever did this to your aunt.”


	2. A Misplaced Motive

Tony Stark, Peter realizes, is the most erratic person he’s ever met. He strides inside the hospital with a singular focus and the world seems to disintegrate around him. They take the elevator up to the seventh floor, looking for room 704. “Wait, won’t they have cleaned it out by now?” Peter asks, practically tripping over his feet to keep up.

“Private hospital room, private hospital, died yesterday. I doubt it.” Tony replies, but he ignores Peter quickly enough when a nurse walks by. “Excuse me, the man who died yesterday, in room 704. Was anyone with him before he coded?”

The nurse raises a brow but shakes her head slowly. “…No. He was alone.” 

Before she could ask why, Tony’s already jetting by, shouting when he sees the janitor walk in through the door, “You! Stop that!”

The janitor whirls around, confused. “What are you-”

Tony bares his teeth, frustrated. Looking inside the empty room, he grabs the jug of water and throws it into the hallway. “Alright that should buy us some time. Wouldn’t want anyone to slip right?”

The janitor looks prime to swear before Tony tugs Peter into the room and locks the door. Peter gapes, primed with distress. “What are you doing!! He was just trying to do his job!”

“The one thing a detective needs is the scene of the crime. No scene. No facts. No clues. No case.” And then turns his back on a still bewildered Peter. 

He paces around the room examining every inch. There’s the empty bed, still unmade, the monitors still beeping next to it, one of them connected to the IV drip. The bed tray is tossed to the side but there’s still George’s uneaten breakfast, some pancakes, cut neatly into small square pieces and some fruit. By now, the janitor has called security and a mousy haired man is banging on the door, “Sir! Let us in! Open up right now!”

Peter chews on his lip, “Maybe we should let them in. We can explain!” 

“No time to do that. They’ll just ruin everything.” Tony shoots back. 

He turns around, giving Peter a once-over and then beckons him over. “I know you’re not a doctor kid. But maybe you can be a sounding board.” he gestures to the bed, “The nurse said the patient was alone when he coded, but epinephrine is quick.” 

Peter nods, he read as much, “So then how did the killer escape before the heart attack?” Peter finishes.

Tony grins. “Exactly.” 

Peter’s expression tightens, he walks around the bed, peers into the IV bag. “Mr. Stark?” he asks hesitantly, “Um, I don’t know if this is a thing or not but couldn’t he have put the stuff in the IV bag? That way he could just go and the bag would do his job for him?” 

Tony’s eyes shoot up. “No, no, that’s definitely a thing. Though not exactly the way you described it.” He gives Peter an appraising look, “Not bad kid.” 

Tony stands next to him, tapping at the bag. “Yeah…” he murmurs, “He could’ve dripped the epi in and just lowered the rate of the infusion pump.” he straightens, looking excited, “Yes! That would have given him,” he hums, teetering his hand, “just around ten minutes to get the hell out of here. The pump is set at 40 CC’s…”

Peter’s already pulled out his phone, typing furiously and then showing Tony the screen. “Average speed is a hundred.” Peter swallows hard, “Someone messed it up.” 

But Tony looks invigorated. “So we have a method...” 

The banging on the door gets louder and Peter feels the sweat on his palms. “Uhh Mr. Stark? I think they’re gonna break down the door.” 

But Tony’s upturning the garbage can onto the bed, giving him a little smirk. “Well saves us the trouble from having to open it right?”

Peter doesn’t really know how to feel about that and just watches with more nerves inside him than he’s ever had before, as Tony sifts through the trash, digging through coffee cups and stopping at a crumpled receipt. The door bursts open and two security guards walk in and Peter squeaks. 

Tony just grins. 

“Gentlemen.” he greets, “One of you mind showing me to the principal’s office?” 

Peter kinda wants to laugh. 

\--------------------------------------------

The two of them are waiting on chairs as the captain of the seventh, Nick Fury, talks down the administrator. “Um…does this always happen?” Peter asks, looking up at Tony with fretful eyes. 

Tony snorts, sprawled on the chair, arms crossed behind his head. “Danger of the trade. Except usually, I don’t get caught.” 

“Well it’s cool that Captain Fury came to bail us out. That was nice.”

Tony stares at him from the corner of his eye but doesn’t say anything. Minutes pass before Tony’s tapping his foot incessantly against the chair before shooting up, teeth clenched. “This is ridiculous. We’re wasting way too much time playing kiss ass when we could be finding a murderer.” 

Peter tries to placate him but it really isn’t going well until finally, the two of them are put out of their misery when Fury sticks his head out the door with a flat expression. “Stark.” he calls, “Sidekick. Get in here.” 

Peter wants to retort but thinks better of it when he sees Fury’s side-eye. The door closes behind them and the inside of the administrator’s office is about as boring as Peter imagined. “This is Mr. Sanchez.” Fury introduces and a small man with a growing bald spot and belly stares sternly at them. 

Beside him, the man Peter bumped into that morning in the hospital stares. Peter flinches, just the slightest bit, as the memories of where he was running to rush back. If Tony notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he dives into his usual pleasantries in his typical drawl. 

“I guess you run the joint.” Tony says, unimpressed. 

“A.K.A the guy who’s still not convinced I shouldn’t press charges against you?” Sanchez retorts, arms crossed.

Tony ignores him, looking at the other man. “And how about you big guy? You the one who gets things off the high shelves for him?” 

Sanchez drops his arms, glaring but the other man hides his smile. His voice is calm and steady, like a rocking boat. “I’m Dr. Baldwin. Head of Surgery.” 

Tony lights up. “Where you treating the dead guy?”

“No. But he was pre-surgery. So technically, my jurisdiction.” 

Peter can see Fury’s eye twitch like he’s exasperated and he steps in front of Tony. “Alright. Here’s how things are gonna shake out. After you apologize to Mr. Sanchez-”

Toy gapes, indignant. “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you. Because what I was hearing was apologize when I’ve just showed him how, when, and where a patient of his was just murdered in his hospital.” 

Fury glares, voice going deeper. “ _Once_ you’ve apologized to Mr. Sanchez, he’ll _release_ the body to our M.E and allow CSU full access to the room.” 

Tony leans back, slightly mollified. “And that’s it?”

Sanchez frowns. “You should count yourself lucky you’re getting that much.”

Tony’s face turns downright derisive and he swivels back to Fury as though appealing to him, “We need a hell of a lot more than that. His files, medical records-”

“Excuse me!” Sanchez interrupts, “That would be a flagrant violation of HIPAA guidelines, not to mention a blatant violation of his privacy.”

“ _Privacy_? He’s _dead_! You ever see a dead guy worry about anything?” 

“Stark.” 

The two hold each other’s gazes for a moment before Tony scowls. He turns to Sanchez abruptly. “I’m sorry for barricading myself in the room and locking you out.” 

The man looks grossly pleased with himself and Peter feels the dislike creep up inside him. Tony may have been a firecracker and not exactly a by-the-rules kind of guy. But he was trying to solve a murder. A murder that would lead to his own aunt. 

This guy just wanted an ego boost. 

After Sanchez’ ass had been appropriately kissed, the two were allowed to leave but the Captain takes one look at him and tells Peter to buzz off for a second. Tony raises his brows at Fury as Peter goes, looking too snide considering Fury could just fire him then and there. “Wow. Does your allergy to feelings extend to kids too? Sad.” 

“Funny. I was about to ask why yours haven’t kicked in yet.” Tony’s blows out a breath, “What? No hives breaking out all over you yet?” Fury shoots back.

Tony looks unamused. 

“What do you think you’re doing bringing a kid to a crime scene?” 

Tony raises his hands in the air, a mockery of an apology, “Hey, hey, hey. The kid’s aunt just died and considering I’m trying to you know, what was it again,” Tony snaps his fingers, “oh yeah, _bring the killer to justice_ , I thought I could get some info.” 

“From a twelve year old.” Fury deadpans.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s fifteen. So hah.” 

Tony turns to leave, over the conversation and all that it implies when Fury grabs his arm. He looks like he wants to say something. Tony even has half an idea of what it might be. But Fury just looks him in the eye, a hard expression. One that reminds him of his father. Except there’s no anger. Just…an expectation. 

Tony pulls away. 

\--------------------------------------------

Eventually, the two make it outside and Tony hails a taxi. “We need to find the woman.” he announces and Peter stares, confused.

“The woman?”

“The one who brought him coffee before he was murdered. There were two cups in the trash.” Vaguely, Peter thinks he remembers, but he really couldn’t be sure, “One of them had lipstick on the lid, so obviously…” Tony trails off and Peter stares. 

“Wait…you think this girl…killed him?”

Tony curls his nose. “No. Most definitely not. But she can tell us more about George since _evidently_ some people don’t care about murders!” he yells, twisting to glare at the hospital.

Peter smiles at a passerby, hoping to convey that all was well. “But…we don’t know anything about her. How are we supposed to find her?”

Tony hails a cab and opens the door to let Peter inside. “We don’t. But Dave might.” 

“Who the heck is Dave?” 

Tony pulls out the receipt from the trash and smooths it out, showing Peter the scrawled name and number on the bottom. “ _Dave_ , is the barista with the hots for our mystery lady. He works at the Coffee Culture.” 

“But...couldn’t Dave just be customer? How do you know he worked there?”

Tony points at the receipt again. “Look closer kid. Our lady paid for two small coffees.”

“But he gave her two large.” Peter breathed, excitement on his face. 

Tony grinned. “What can I say? Our guy’s a flirt.” 

Peter’s still sitting more or less in awe when Tony frowns at him. “That guy. Baldwin. When you saw him you flinched. Did he do something to you?” Tony asks, voice low. 

Peter shakes his head slowly. “N-no. I’ve just seen him around is all.” But Tony’s still looking at him like he’s waiting for something and Peter rubs the back of his neck, “He uhh, he was walking and I bumped into him in the hall when I was trying to get to…” he trails off but Tony looks like he understands. 

Tony looks away. Peter stares out the window. 

The inside of the Coffee Culture is exactly what Peter imagined it to be. Kinda indie, kinda hipster, very woody and flowery. There’s a guy standing at the register and whaddya know, “Bingo.” Tony clicks his tongue.

Dave smiles at them. “Hey, how can I help you.” 

Tony flashes the man’s name and number on the receipt, “Was hoping to find the rightful owner of this actually.”

Dave pales, gesturing to one of his co-workers to come take over and he meets them at the back. “Hey man listen, if that was your girlfriend or something I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I give out my number to a lot of people.” 

Tony waves his hand dismissively. “No I don’t care about that. The receipt says she was here at eight-thirty-five and she was wearing red lipstick.” 

Dave whistles. “Oh yea, the blonde. Cleavage, tight white skirt, heels.” 

Peter wrinkles his nose and sees Tony giving him an unimpressed side-eye. 

“Oh man, and her perfume. How often do you meet a sexy doctor?” 

Peter furrows his brows. “How could you know she was a doctor?”

“I think the white lab coat gave it away.” 

Tony nods, looking deep in thought before turning around. “Great, thanks. Good luck with the flirting!” and Peter trails on after him.

“Mr. Stark! I don’t know why that lady was wearing a lab coat but she wasn’t a doctor.”

Tony raises a brow. “Oh?”

“My aunt is a- was- was a nurse.” Peter shakes his head just the slightest bit, he can’t let his feelings get in the way now, “And she was never allowed to wear perfume, it could trigger an allergy.” 

Tony nods. “Not to mention the fact that no doctor would wear their lab coat outside of the hospital.” 

Tony’s looking at him again like he’s appraising him and Peter feels the oddest feeling to stand straighter. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t even like the feeing honestly. But a part of him wants Tony’s approval. Wants it a lot. 

He shakes his head again. 

“So Miss. Cleavage isn’t a doctor…but what about the lab coat…” Tony purses his lips, staring intently at the concrete before he jerks up in an epiphany. “Hey kid, need a new cleanser?”

Tony leads Peter to one of the swankiest skin care stores Peter’s ever seen. The ceilings are high and lined with gold etchings and marble tiling. There are five attendants on the floor, all looking immaculate and all wearing white lab coats. “Mr. Stark there.” Peter points to where a blonde woman with bright lipstick is fiddling with a display case. 

“Excuse me miss?” 

The woman, Jackie, is understandably shocked when they tell her the news. “Oh my god. I was just with him this morning. I can’t believe George is dead. Oh my God.” she leans against the glass case, just shaking her head.

“And how exactly did you know George?” Tony asks, trying to be gentle.

“Oh! We were uh, we were neighbors.” she says softly, “A few months ago, he told me he was having trouble seeing. He just thought he needed new glasses.” she tries to smile but then it drops, “And then they found the tumor.” 

Jackie shrugs, “After he lost his eyesight completely, I started to visit him more, read him the paper and things like that.”

Tony’s expression doesn’t change. “What time did you leave the hospital yesterday?” 

She tilts her head. “Oh uhh, a little after nine-thirty. Why?”

Tony’s face is grave. “Because we think George died from something undoubtedly _un_ natural.” 

Her jaw drops, horror flooding her eyes. “You think he was _murdered_??” she whispers, falling harder against the case. 

“Oh I’m sure of it.” Tony replies and she looks like she’s going to faint.

“Did anyone see you leave the hospital?” Peter interjects, suddenly feeling impatient.

“I don’t know umm. I just- oh God. I can- I can give you my Metro card though. There should be a record of my subway ride.”

Tony nods and she scurries behind the counter to grab her purse. In her vacancy, Tony leans into Peter, talking to him, but almost talking mostly to himself. “I put the guy’s death at ten-thirty which means if she left at nine-thirty, she couldn’t be our killer.” 

Peter nods. “Too early for the epinephrine.” 

Jackie comes back, handing over her card to Tony with a smile. “One last thing before we go. Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt him? A family member, a spouse, girlfriend, anyone?” 

She looks regretful. “One of the reasons I always visited him was because he was always so alone. No family. Hardly any friends.” she looks contemplative before sparking up again, “There was one other person that he talked to though. This doctor that used to come by at night.”

Peter looks confused. “His doctor…visited him at night?” he shares a glance with Tony, who looks even more serious than before. 

“Not his oncologist, just _a_ doctor. From the hospital. They used to talk about his illness, his medicine, how to manage the pain. It seemed like he was helping George cope with what was coming.”

Something sparked behind Tony’s eyes. “His cancer was terminal?”

“He only had a few months to live…you didn’t know that?”

Tony purses his lips. “His food that morning…did you cut that up for him?” 

The woman pulls her lip. “His…? Oh, the pancakes. No, they were cut up when I got there.” 

Tony nods and pulls Peter away. The woman yells a quick, “Why?” behind them but Tony pays her no mind and Peter turns to shrug apologetically at her. 

Tony’s walking briskly, something tense in the hardness of his jaw. “This is bad.” 

“Mr. Stark?”

“Whoever cut up Mr. Miller’s breakfast came back after Jackie left and killed him. I’m positive he’s killed other patients the same way before and I’m just as sure that your aunt found out.” 

Peter’s eyes go round, his breath coming in short. 

“Your aunt was after an angel of death. And if I’m right. He’s killed plenty more people before Mr. Miller and if we don’t finish what your aunt started; he’ll kill way more.” 

“Why would…why would someone _do_ that?” Peter’s voice feels choked.

He feels like he’s dying.

“Look at what we know. We know the murderer has some medical expertise, we know that George was visited exclusively by a man claiming to be a doctor, we know that he cut an adult’s pancakes into child-size bites for him to eat. Now why would a murderer do something like that?” Tony looks Peter in the eye, “It reflects a specific kind of mindset, a mindset that shows he was meeting George’s needs not out of empathy but out of a craving for his dependence. And that mindset reflects a certain kind of killer. One who preys on the weak or the sick. Victims he believes are doomed to die.” 

Peter sniffs. “May wasn’t doomed to die. She was healthy and strong and wanted to live.”

Tony pauses. He lifts a hand as though to rest it on Peter’s shoulder but lets it fall back to his side, limp. “None of them wanted to die early either. That’s why he has to be stopped.” 

There are tears pricking at Peter’s eyes and he rubs at them furiously. Despite every action he’s taken revolving around May, he hasn’t really had the time to _think_ about her. Truly think about her and her life and her death. And he can’t start now. He can’t because if he starts he doesn’t think he’ll ever finish and there’s nowhere to go back to that wasn’t achingly empty and now that he knows what he knows, he can’t go back without bringing the man who ruined their lives to justice. He has to. No matter what it takes. 

He takes a breath. Collects himself. And looks Tony in the eye. “So we have to go back to the hospital right? That’s his home base.”

Tony scrunches his face. “ _We_ aren’t doing anything. _You_ are going to go home and _I’m_ going to figure out what to do after getting a massive cup of coffee. God my head is killing me.” 

Peter frowns, hands shaking. “What do you mean go home? I can’t go home! May is dead and the person who _killed_ her is still out there! I can’t leave that alone!”

Tony’s expression darkens and for the first time, Peter feels intimidated by his stature, the way he carries himself like he had never met fear. “This isn’t a place for kids. This isn’t a murder mystery adventure or the Hardy Boys. This is real life people doing real bad things that have real consequences.” he groans, rubbing at his eye, “This is on me. I shouldn’t have taken you to the hospital. That was dumb. Anything could have happened-”

“But nothing happened! And I helped you! You know I did!” Tony opens his mouth to retort but Peter cuts him off, startled at his own audaciousness. He’s still the same kid that stuttered whenever Flash bullied him right? Same kid who didn’t know how not to trip over his own feet to be polite? But this is important. More important than anything. 

“I’m the one who thought of the IV and the doctor thing and I know you probably already knew but I helped! I can still help! I know that hospital and the people who work in it and I-” Peter stops, suddenly feeling drained, his whole body sagging. “Mr. Stark.” he finally says, looking up with eyes older than his years. “Let me find the person who did this. And then I promise, I’ll leave you alone.” 

Tony hesitates.

“Please.” 

Tony makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, whipping around in a huff. “Fine. Fine! But no doing anything I don’t tell you to.” he sighs again, turning his head back to see Peter beaming, “If you keep me waiting I’m leaving you.” he threatens and Peter bounds towards him.

“Thank you Mr. Stark!! You won’t regret it!” 

\--------------------------------------------

They go back to visit the man Peter bumped into in his rush to May’s surgery room that day, Chief of Surgery, Dr. Baldwin. The three of them are in his office where’s he’s trying to score a hole-in-one with his office golf set, sprawled across the carpeted floor. Dr. Baldwin doesn’t look particularly convinced. “An angel of death? Here?” he twists his lip, contemplative, “No. We have some top notch brass over here. They would have caught it already.” 

Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets. “To be fair, it’s just a theory.” he raises a brow, “But then again, I’ve been right about oh,” he turns to Peter, “would you say just about everything else or only just?”

Peter sighs, not even bothering to reply knowing Tony would just plunder through anyway. “The autopsy proved our original theory that there was more epi in that guy’s blood than the doctors gave him after his heart attack.” he plants his hands on Dr. Baldwin’s desk, the thud jolting him from his put, “That’s murder.”

His ball misses the hole. 

The doctor sighs, stretches out his back and gives Tony his full attention. “I’m very sorry to hear that.” 

“Yeah well, sorries aren’t gonna do much. If I’m going to find who’s killing your patients, I’m gonna need some info. Access to your medical records, a list of hospital deaths, and whatever logs you have about epinephrine supply.”

Dr. Baldwin sets down his club, sitting down in his desk chair, twisting idly. “And you’re talking to me why? Sanchez handles all the papers.”

“Yeah. But Mr. Stick-Up-His-Butt’ll say no. But you!” Tony smirks, “You tried to hide it, but I saw you smiling when I made fun of Sanchez’s height. You don’t like him. I don’t blame you.” 

Dr. Baldwin fumbles but Tony doesn’t give him the chance to pretend. “Point is, you’re kinda a hot shot department head around here and we could use that kind of influent to throw around.” 

Dr. Baldwin sighs and stops swiveling. “Okay. I’ll talk to him.” he smirks, “And by talk, I mean threaten to hold a press conference about my grave concerns over the indifference over a potential murderer walking through our halls. That good?”

Tony’s grin is borderline impressed. “Dramatic. Showy. I can work with that.” 

\--------------------------------------------

They get the dozens of boxes of records a few hours later and Peter finds himself in the police station conference room with a giant chalkboard lugged inside. “You’re ridiculously stronger than you look did you know that?” Tony’s staring at him like Peter’s the most confounding puzzles as he carries three boxes stacked atop each other into the room.

Flustered, Peter almost drops the boxes all across the table. “I don’t know! I grew up! Isn’t that what happens to everybody??”

Tony snorts, “Not like that it doesn’t. You get bit by a radioactive spider?” he teases.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Hah hah hah. A comic book joke. Really original for a so-called genius.” 

Miffed, Tony turns to the boxes, “If you can’t appreciate my humor- for which I’m renowned for by the way- you can at least help and weed out all the patients who died from a heart attack recently, filtering for if they were seriously ill before.” 

Peter looks at the piles of papers and feels a swell of trepidation in his gut. But undeterred and more motivated than he’d ever been in his entire life, he dives into the work, sifting through stack after stack. Whenever he finds a name, he sets the file aside and marks it on the blackboard. Hours later, they’ve compiled a comprehensive, if slightly lopsided list of seventy-three names. 

Peter groans, rubbing at his temples. “Oh my God that was a lot.” 

He feels exhausted. He’s hungry, groggy and has the vaguest of headaches clustering behind his eyes, but Tony seems razor focused, perhaps even more so than that morning. There’s a craze of obsession in his eyes, a jittery quality in the way he moves that makes him seem caught in his own mind. Peter can just imagine all the theories swirling away between the firing of all his synapses. “It’s a lot of work and we’re still not done. Seventy-three names and some, all, or none of them can be related to our angel.” 

Peter stifles back a yawn, narrowing his eyes at the board. “Well, some of these have to be natural causes. Sick people get heart attacks and die all the time.” 

Tony turns around, sharp and frazzled and Peter knows his temper is shot. “Exactly. Exactly! And without being able to tell who died of what, I don’t have a set of victims, which means I can’t see his pattern, which means we’re no better off than when we started! God I need a d-” Tony stops, the anger vanishes from his face and Peter sees him struggle to contain himself. 

And Peter just wants to help. He doesn’t want to see that dispirited expression, the layer of shock, disappointment, and defeat. His mind races trying to think of something to get Tony’s mind off whatever it is that has him that shaken when Peter jolts, jumping from his seat. “Forget about the victims.” he says, nodding along to himself as the rest of the idea forms in his head, “The murder weapon. What about that? You can’t just get epinephrine, you have to work for it.” Tony’s eyes snap to him, “Even if you had a prescription for it, it wouldn’t be enough, which means-”

Tony shakes his head, disappointed. “Which means that he stole it? I already checked the pharmacy records. Epinephrine was stolen twice and not even on matching dates.”

Peter frowns, shoulders dropping. “Oh…I guess I should’ve checked- wait.” he lights up again, “What about those cart things? I see them all the time at the hospital when I went to see May.” And it’s the oddest feeling of his aunt’s name not feeling like barbs on his tongue as all the pieces come together and he can feel himself getting closer to bringing her the justice she deserved. 

Tony looks at Peter like he’s the dawn. “Parker you’re brilliant.” Peter flushes with the compliment, ducking his head to mask how pleased he is, “Quick, grab the file and read me the dates of any missing epi.” 

Peter almost trips over his feet reaching across the table to snatch the file, skimming the dates as fast as he can. “Epi was stolen…January seven!” Tony turns around, circling the patient name with the corresponding date in a quick circle, “March twenty-seven,” Peter continues, “April thirtieth, May fifteen, June second.” 

On June second, George Miller’s name gets circled. Peter’s eyes widen. 

Tony stares at the board, “Happy finding your first serial killer day kid.” 

All Peter can say is “Holy _shit_.”

“Hey. Watch your language. Or something. Aren’t you twelve?”

“Fifteen. And you know that.”

“I know nothing of the sort.” 

“Wait- Mr. Stark. If- if we’re right. This guy’s killed five people. That’s…” 

In a rare burst of compassion, Tony grips Peter’s shoulder. “The worst part about this job is that it’s needed at all. We can’t prevent atrocities, but we can stop them from continuing.” 

“Yeah…I know. It’s just…it’s hard.” Peter tries to muster up a smile. “But at least we have your pattern right?” 

Tony shrugs, “Yeah, but now comes the annoying part. Wait here.” 

Peter tilts his head in tacit confusion as Tony walks to the door, stopping for a second before sighing again and walking out. “Rogers!” he calls and Peter watches as the blonde detective from before looks up from his desk, expression unenthused. 

Tony’s expecting Rogers to be standoffish, borderline rude for showing him up earlier that day but Rogers surprises him when he stands up, holding out his hand. Tony stares at it like it’s the most foreign thing he’s ever seen. Rogers looks at him expectantly and then lets his hand drop, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.” 

Tony stares.

“I’ve been reading through some of the cases you consulted with and I get how you work now a bit better and it was wrong that I didn’t welcome you properly to the team. The seventh is happy to have you.” 

Tony looks surprised, mouth slightly parted. “Uhh, yeah. No, it’s fine. It’s- I come off too strong sometimes, no hard feelings.” he sticks out his hand and Rogers doesn’t hesitate before he grips it in his own, this time keeping the squeezing to a polite minimum. 

“Glad we got that sorted out. Thor’s been riding on me all day to talk to you, so I can check this off my list I guess.” he laughs and Tony notices the youthfulness of his eyes, the kind of blue that reminded you of summer days in the playground.

“Well since we’re all kumbayah now, would you mind doing me a favor?” 

\--------------------------------------------

After falling asleep sprawled across a bench in the precinct while Tony dug deeper into the data, Peter is awoken to weak coffee and a muffin. “Rise and shine kid, we have a murderer to catch.” 

Apparently, Tony’s favor involved getting the NYPD to launch formal interviews with his twelve suspects. Tony walked Peter through his process, showing him how he cross-referenced all the male staff with their time card stamps to see if they were around at the time of the murder and then eliminated some based on whether they had access to the carts on the floors of the murders. Steve- being friends had first name privileges it seems- had called them up when they were ready to bring the two in to help move the interrogations along. 

The two of them step into the elevator and Peter cringes when he sees the janitor from before. Oh if looks could kill. Tony grimaces, standing between him and Peter and clasps his hands in front of him, rocking on the balls of his feet. Peter catches his eye, jerking his head in an obvious hint and Tony pulls his lip harder before silently groaning. He turns to the man, “About before. With the water. I got a bit carried away. Sorry about that.” 

The man looks at him, unimpressed, but nods. “Oh. No worries. It’s all right.”

Except, when the elevator opens, he presses each and every button before exiting, looking directly into Tony’s eyes. 

The door closes and Peter facepalms. “You just _had_ to throw that water didn’t you.” 

Tony just drops his head. 

They’re supposed to meet Steve in the conference room but Tony pulls Peter aside for a little detour. They poke into Dr. Baldwin’s office, it’s empty, and Tony urges Peter to make himself comfortable while he helps himself to the doctor’s golf clubs and balls. Peter’s counting off Tony’s third missed shot in a row when Dr. Baldwin walks in, hiding his surprise quickly. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing interviews or something?”

Tony straightens, leaning slightly on the club. “I thought we could start with you actually.”

This time, Dr. Baldwin doesn’t try to hide his surprise. “Me?” he says, disbelief puffing up his words, “I’m the one who got you the files remember?”

Tony shrugs, “Yeah. But that’s a great way to deflect suspicion don’t you think? Besides, were you aware that all five of our victims were _your_ patients? I suppose that’s just a coincidence.” 

The man looks practically relieved as he settles into his chair. “Actually, no. It’s the opposite of a coincidence. Your angel, he picks only the people he thinks are terminally sick right? Well,” he flashes a pair of lazy jazz hands, “that’s where I come in. I operate on the sickest people we have.” 

Tony turns up the heat, unconvinced, “Still. Your practice shows what many consider a cavalier attitude towards life and death. Your mortality rate increases every year.” 

But Dr. Baldwin doesn’t back down. “Yeah. Because I operate on people no one else will.” 

“Last year, the hospital forced you to stop performing an experimental procedure when you racked up a 75% failure rate.”

Dr. Baldwin’s eyes narrow. “There are risks associated with innovation.”

Peter crosses his arms. “Like lawsuits? Your methods caused two deaths that cost the hospital millions of dollars.” 

Tony raises a brow, like he’s surprised Peter spoke up at all, but carries his momentum. “You’ve been on probation since then right? The kind of deal where one more bad move and you’re out of here with a suspended license to boot.” Tony glares, his voice taking on a sarcastic, accusing quality. “So here’s what I’m thinking. You, big guy with a lot of ambition. You start killing people on purpose, to punish the hospital for losing faith in you. Or, you need an ego boost and wanna feel like God again. Either way- killer.” 

Dr. Baldwin doesn’t flinch, just keeps staring at him with those steady, dark eyes. “Okay. You want to know why I’m not the killer you’re looking for?” 

Tony waves his hand in a by your leave gesture. “Oh please.” 

“This angel, if he exists anyway, kills people who are in pain. It’s a mission of mercy. Me?” Dr. Baldwin’s face darkens, “I’m a surgeon. My favourite kind of patient is unconscious on a table with a tube down his throat. These people, to be honest, I’m not really interested in whether they’re suffering or not.” he shrugs, “It doesn’t really affect me, and that’s what makes me exceptional at what I do.” 

There’s a puff of dry laughter and Tony’s straightening, shaking his head, almost incredulous. “So basically, you’re too indifferent to your patients to be the angel of death.” he turns to Peter, something astounded in his eyes. “Incredible. Best alibi I’ve ever heard.”

“I mean, there’s that. But there’s also the fact that when George Miller was killed, I was all the way on a train from my home in White Plains.” 

Tony looks at Peter and Peter looks back. Another dead end. 

The rest of the interviews are all a bust, each ending in a proclamation of innocence by an increasingly irate Tony. Dr. Cahill is brought to the stand. He’s jittery, bags under his eyes, playing with his car keys, and Tony takes all of five minutes to dismiss him as a suspect. Unfortunately, the rest of their interviews turn up no leads either and Tony’s so tense Peter’s sure he’ll freeze into marble forever the entire walk out of the hospital. It’s only when they’re standing waiting for their taxi that Tony loosens up, that old fire reigniting. “That car.” He whispers. “That’s that doctor’s car. Cahill.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Peter asks, incredulous.

“When we interviewed him. He kept fiddling with his keys in the most annoying way. But the car has the same sticker on the key, the basketball team, and it’s the same model as the car key suggests. But…” he turns around, squinting at the hospital, then back at the car. 

“So it’s his car, does it matter?”

But Tony’s expression is morphing into one of dawning gravity. “Steve liked him for the murders. I disagreed. But as of five hours ago, Dr. Cahill wrapped up a thirty-hour shift. Legally, he’s not allowed to step foot into the hospital for another six hours.” 

Something hard tightens in Peter’s stomach. “When May was done her shift she couldn’t get home fast enough.” 

Tony turns to look at him, face grave. “So then what’s our good doctor still doing here?” 

The two burst full speed into the hospital, grabbing the attention of the attending security guard. Running to the floor Cahill was least seen on, Tony throws open one of the room doors to see Dr. Cahill sticking a syringe into a tube connected to a sleeping patient. Chills creep all over Peter’s body, it freezes him to his core. 

Dr. Cahill looks crazed, erratic, the circles under his eyes so much darker than before. The guards surge towards him, ripping him away from the bed as he yells, “Hey! What are you doing! Get off me! I work here! Get off!” 

The security guards wrestle keeping Cahill constrained but Tony’s paled, dropping his head. “Mr. Stark? We got him. Why aren’t you celebrating?”

“It’s not the angel.” Tony says and Peter feels the disappointment wash over him in waves. 

“What?”

“The syringe, it’s empty. And that isn’t an IV tube, it’s for a PCA machine. We didn’t catch a killer. We caught an addict.” and his eyes are as savage as his tone as though the very state of addiction disgusted him, “He’s trying to steal the morphine. _Fuck_.” Tony kicks at the wall, holding in his hiss. 

He whirls around, staring daggers into the now trembling doctor. “Bloodshot eyes, bags, general twitchiness. I chalked it up to sleep deprivation but I should’ve known. _I should’ve known_ what you are.”

The security guards haul Cahill out of the room but Tony’s still fuming. They’re in the Uber back home when Tony groans, rubbing at his eye with his palms. “Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, voice small.

Tony glances at him. Rubs his eyes harder. “No. Nothing.” he says, trying to keep his voice as not angry as possible. “I just forgot about dropping you home.”

All at once, the reality of his situation hits him like a tidal wave and Peter is quick to raise his hands, waving them around. “No! Don’t worry about it Mr. Stark! I’ll come back with you and help you work on the case. I know you’re not just gonna leave it.”

Tony looks like he’s going to protest but Peter’s firm. “I won’t be sleeping anyway. I might as well be productive. There has to be something we missed.” 

Tony looks at him but doesn’t say anything. 

Tony lives in a tall brownstone in an older part of the city. Peter juts out his lip impressed. Whatever he thought consulting detectives made, this isn’t what he thought. Tony notices his mild awe and quickly assuages any thoughts of making it big as a detective. “Courtesy of daddy dear.” he says, gesturing to the house. “I don’t cause a mess and he lets me keep the house. Not a bad deal.” 

“Does he live here with you?”

Tony curls his nose like he’s just smelled something absolutely foul. “God no. No, he’s probably in the London house right now. Maybe Paris.” Tony pulls his lip, something sardonic, “Anywhere far away is good enough for me.” 

The inside of the house is dark, definitely in need of repair but not in a way that makes Peter want to turn tail and leave. It just needs a fresh coat of paint, maybe some remoulding. But it’s a beautiful base, solid, understated, elegant in a way. The floor opens up to a set of stairs leading up, a hallway down to the kitchen and a giant living room to his right where a giant oak table is sprawled in the middle cluttered with notes. On the wall behind it, a collage of the entire case. Photos of the victims, files, highlighted notes, bits of tissues scrawled with words tacked next to newspaper clippings and other memorabilia. 

“Woah.” Peter breathes, walking up like he’s entranced, tracing the collage. 

He skims over the evidence and there’s something about everything being clustered all together that makes his brain work faster. Different. Like his neurons just couldn’t stop firing. He stops at Allison Carter’s file and just freezes. “Mr. Stark? Come look at this.” 

And Tony’s looking skeptical, probably because he’s combed over those papers over and over for hours, but comes next to Peter anyway. He points at Allison’s file. “All of the angel’s victims were terminal. Except for her. She was killed before Mr. Miller.”

Tony’s mouth pinches, “She’d been sick. Really sick. She was in the ICU for two weeks.” 

Peter nods, but his energy builds momentum as he points to the notes section of the file. “Yeah but look, they gave her a coronary artery bypass graft. That’s a huge surgery. I read about it when I was looking into ischemia. And look at these notes, she was recovering. It was slow, but she was getting better.”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter’s voice is loud and sad, “She wasn’t going to die.”

Tony snatches the file, staring at it with the intensity of an imploding star. “Then why did the angel make an exception for her.” he mutters. 

At that moment, Tony’s phone rings and his fingers fumble to pull it out of his pocket. He glances at the scree, slides to accept the call and puts it on speaker. “Captain.” he greets.

“That druggie doctor you picked up today?” Fury starts, “Guess getting caught gave him a conscience. He’s talking. Told us he went into a patient’s room to siphon off some of his morphine when he heard someone coming in. He hid in the bathroom and heard a guy he didn’t recognize talk to the victim for a whole hour.”

“About his condition?” Tony presses.

“Yup. Condition, medicine, how long he had to live. How exactly the disease was destroying his body. And apparently, that wasn’t their first conversation. Our guy seems pretty confident he was a doctor. Anyway. The guy left and our guy walked out too and the next day, Sutter died of a heart attack.”

“And I supposed he didn’t tell us this sooner because he couldn’t explain what he was doing in Sutter’s room huh?”

“Bingo.” 

Tony clicks the phone off and turns to Peter, a wild excitement in his eyes. “Alright kid, we’re back on track. This proves the angel hypothesis. Someone with the exact description as the man who approached Miller also visited another victim. Which means we have to go through every bit of data again to figure out why Allison was the exception and how your aunt got involved in any of this. But first,” he stands up, heading out the door. “Peter, you get started. I need to pharmacy hunt.”   
\--------------------------------------------

 

Peter is woken up from where he’s hunched over the kitchen table, a paper still clutched in his hand by an energetic Tony. “Kid. Wake up. Kid!”

Peter groans, wincing as he stretches out his cramped back “Misser Star’?” he rubs at his eyes and sees Tony dangling a form in front of his face.

“Look at this. It’s Dariya Ruseckas’ consent form.” 

Peter swallows, forcing his brain to focus, “Yeah, she’s the uhh, the third victim.” 

Tony nods, impatient, “ _Yeah_. But look closer. Look at the handwriting.”

Peter peers at the page before snapping his head up. “It’s different. She wrote her own name but someone else filled out the form.” 

“Exactly. And look at the initials of the nurse. A. J. It stands for Anichka Jones. Jones has to be a married name because Anichka is as Ukrainian as it gets. Which explains why she filled out the form because Miss. Ruseckas, born in the Ukraine, obviously didn’t speak enough English to fill it out herself.” 

Peter’s still staring like he doesn’t quite get the point.

“The killer liked to _talk_ to his victims. For a long time, multiple times. Getting to know them was a huge part of his process. So? How could he have spoken to a woman who didn’t know English unless he knew Ukrainian?”

Peter lights up, rushing out from his seat to find the personnel files. “Don’t bother. I already looked through them all.”

“And??” 

“Not a single doctor knows it.” Tony announces.

Petr deflates, something almost like anger sparking inside him. “Then why are you so happy?? We’re still nowhere then!”

But Tony’s lips curl into a smirk. “Because, not all doctors stay doctors.”   
\--------------------------------------------

A quick call to Steve and a Mr. Danai Gura is waiting in the interrogation room like he hasn’t a care in the world. Peter’s entire body shakes when he sees who it is. The janitor from before. The janitor with the spilled jug of water and the elevator buttons looks at him and smiles. Tony looks grave, taking Peter by the shoulders and leading him to the room behind the window so he can watch and listen to the interrogation without having to go inside. “Stay here. I’ll come back to explain everything.”

“He- he killed all of those people and May.” Peter whirls around, eyes pained and desperate, entire body trembling, “what about _May_.” 

And Tony’s out of his depth. Never one to get into the nitty gritty of emotions and unable to deal with his own traumas let alone those of others. He doesn’t know what to do. Can’t even imagine what to do. So he does what he always does, throw a snappy one liner and leaves before anything can get any realer. “If he’s the one who hurt your aunt, I’ll get him.” 

Tony strides into the interrogation room, sitting across from Gura on the chair, lips pulled in a tight smile. “Your lack of accent is pretty impressive you know that?”

The man nods. “Thank you. I learned English as a boy.” 

Tony leans back in his chair, cavalier, nonchalant. “You know, if I had met you in the street, I would never guess you were a native Ukrainian. But at work, well,” Tony shrugs, “the tools of your trade gave you away. The blue and yellow rags on our cart, always good to be patriotic, the university on your personnel file. Olesky University.” he declares in a grand voice, “Congratulations. Arguably one of the best medical schools int eh country.”

“Not arguably.” the man replies. 

Tony pulls out a file, placing a photo of each victim on the table. “Well since we’ve established your medical prowess, how about you help us out. Each of these people here were murdered.”

Gura raises his brows. “As I recall, all of these patients were very sick. Dying.” 

“And that makes it okay to kill them?”

The man leans forward, voice low. “When a patient is in pain, dying is not a tragedy. It is a release.” 

Tony sneers. “You make it sound so noble. Murdering defenseless, sick people.”

But Gura doesn’t flinch. “You haven’t explained to me why I’m here yet.”

Steve walks into the room, throwing down a warrant on the table. “We got a warrant to search your place Mr. Gura. We found something weird,” he throws a little black book down, “an entire log filled with medical notes, written by you by the way, exclusively about these patients.”

Tony glares. “We know you’re the man who killed them.”

Gura snaps, straining against his cuffed hands. “I _freed_ them. I freed them from the pain-wracked prisons their bodies had become. I studied them, I talked to them. I confirmed they had no chance of recovery. Only the chance of a painful death. I showed them _mercy_.” 

But Tony is relentless. “What about Allison Carter? What about her? She was getting better. How can you call that mercy.” 

The man scoffs. “People do not get better from cardiac cancer.” 

And for the first time, Tony is at a loss. “What are you- She wasn’t dying of cancer. She had bypass surgery. Her blood pressure was improving, her oxygen saturation-”

“NO.” Gura roared. “You’re _wrong_. They found a mass in her heart.”

“She had her entire _life_ before her.” 

“No! She was dying! You’re no better than Soviet Ukraine.” the man says in disgust, “Making up lies to suit your truths. I’m done talking.”

Tony slams his hand on the table. “You’re done when I say you’re done. There’s still one murder unaccounted for. May Parker. What did you to do her? She find out what you were doing and you silenced her before she could come forward with the truth?”

“Ms. Parker died in a car accident.” 

“A car accident someone intended.” 

“Nobody knew about me. No one. I did nothing to her. Nothing.” he glowers, looking straight into Tony’s eyes. “I’m done talking.” 

Peter storms out, not knowing what he’s going to do but knowing he can’t stand there any longer watching this guy get out of confessing to the murder of the only person he still had left in his life when Tony catches him in his arms, steadying him with an unrelenting grip. “Peter.” he commands, “I know it’s hard. But he’s not lying.”

Tears prick at Peter’s eyes as he wrestles out of Tony’s grip, but Tony’s hands are firm. “What do you mean he’s not lying! He basically confessed to killing those five people and May knew! She knew!” 

“Yes she knew but he didn’t know that. And he didn’t know Allison’s true condition either. Something’s wrong. Something is-” Tony freezes, looking like he’s caught in a vision Peter can’t see.

“Someone else knew.” he whirls around, letting Peter go, staring at the interrogation room door. “Someone tricked him.”

\--------------------------------------------

Gura acted alone but was not nearly as isolated as he thought he was. Tony grit his teeth, trying to think of why the man would think Allison Carter was terminally ill when her record pointed to a path of perfect recovery. His eyes flit to Peter and then back to the floor. May Parker was the key. She had to be. But how she fit into the puzzle was as perplexing as the original question. 

He needed more data. But it had been hard for him to get it when Peter was glued to his side at every moment desperate to work his brain past being able to think about his grief. Resolved, Tony shoots up from his seat, giving Peter a quick goodbye before walking briskly out the station. Forty minutes later, he’s in a café with Marisa Fajardo. She has a gaunt expression in her eyes and that slow way of walking the mourning so often adopted. As though they don’t have the energy to keep up with the rest of the world. 

“Thank you for meeting me.” 

“Anything to help.” she smiles weakly.

“The day May died, is there anything you can tell me? Absolutely anything, no matter how small.”

Marisa frowned, her fingers curling anxiously around the handles of her handbag. “N-nothing unusual. It was just a- it was just a normal day.” she hiccups and then composes herself, “I came into work at seven-fifteen, I was a little late because the line for the coffee was longer than usual and May said she was having a rough day so I wanted to make her tea for her as a little pick me up.” she laughs, wiping at her eyes.

“Did you say make her tea for her? Why not buy it when you buy the coffee?” 

“Oh no, May was really adventurous when it came to her teas. She liked to try new ones every month and she’d bring a little jar of it to the break room and make herself a cup every morning. I just got a cup of hot water since it was faster than boiling it ourselves.”

“Anything else?” Tony presses, gentler this time.

“I made her the tea, we had ten minutes to drink our stuff before we split ways to go on for our shifts. I saw her later that day, she was arguing with um, a pharmacist. I don’t know what about. But she sounded furious. But I got a call on my pager and I had to go and then she…she left without saying goodbye and I- I’m sorry. I wish I could be more helpful.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short Mrs. Fajardo. You helped quite a lot actually.” 

\--------------------------------------------

Tony leaves Peter at the station and it’s hours before he comes back. There was a jittery quality in the way Tony moved and something odd in his eye like he was keeping a secret. When he left, Peter tried to go after him- “I want to help Mr. Stark!”- but Tony had said he’d do more harm than good where he was going and it was best for him to stay there. 

Detective Odinson knocks on the conference room door holding a bag of bagels and a juice box. “Fancy sharing a meal?” he asks and Peter quirks a smile, gesturing for him to come in.

“Stark really just up and left you here huh?” 

Peter shrugs, taking the bagel from his outstretched hand. 

“I’m Thor by the way.” 

“Peter.”

Thor grins and he strikes Peter as probably the most genuine person he’s ever seen. 

They eat in silence for a bit before Thor claps him on the shoulder, “I wouldn’t worry about it. Stark leaving, I mean. He’s a bit of a loner. But he’s efficient. Fury said he did some impressive stuff back in London.”

Interest piqued, Peter tilts his head, “Did he move here recently?”

“I don’t know when he moved here, but he started working here just a couple days ago.” Thor snorts, “But it’s not like he’s getting paid so he’s more like a glorified intern.” The thought makes him chuckle and it booms like thunder.

Peter’s surprised. A guy like Tony, sharp, quick with results, reliable…didn’t seem like the kind of guy who couldn’t land a job. But then he remembers the brownstone and all the conditions tied to its use. “I guess he must be rich then huh?” he says, feigning disinterest.

“Steve did some digging before he came in, ran a full background check. His father’s Howard Stark.” Thor’s voice drops, shaking his head, “I don’t envy that.” 

Silently, Peter agrees. He knows of Howard Stark. Who doesn’t? A Forbes favourite, a Times cover one, two, three times, the subject of articles and news. You don’t get to be the world’s biggest arms dealer without garnering some notoriety. 

“Anyone know why he came to New York?” 

“Not a clue. You should ask him.” 

But Peter has a feeling that would be a pointless task. 

Tony arrives an hour and a bit later looking worse for wear. Behind him, escorting an eerily calm Dr. Baldwin, Detective Rogers. Thor glances at Peter, getting up to meet his colleagues, leaving the door open in a silent permission to let Peter follow. But Peter feels floored. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. He can’t really breathe. There’s static all in his brain. But Tony catches his eye, his expression tight. 

And Peter knows. 

Tony’s left the observation room door open and Peter knows it’s intentional. He stands in front of the one-way mirror, arms wrapped tightly around himself as he watches Dr. Baldwin sit across Tony, stone-faced.

“So if everyone here doesn’t mind, I’m just gonna cut to the chase.” Tony starts, a hard edge like steel in his voice, “We all know you’re a smart guy doc. Brilliant even. You agree with that?” 

Dr. Baldwin smirks, “If you’re one step ahead long enough, people tend to call you that. You should know right?”

Tony shrugs, deliberately nonchalant, “Oh yeah, sure. But you know,” he leans forward, “the real problem with brilliance is that you end up forgetting that other people can be just as fucking brilliant.” 

Tony opens the file in front of him but doesn’t pull anything out yet. “Yesterday, it occurred to me, that I probably wasn’t the first one to figure out there was angel of death in General Heart. I wasn’t even the second.” He pauses and Peter sees him shift his face just the slightest bit to the right as though to look back at him before he stops himself, “But I’ll get back to that. Nope!” he stands up swiveling to stare at the bemused doctor, “Someone else got to that conclusion first.”

“You mean someone knew and didn’t say anything?”

“A brilliant someone. Someone who would have had particular reason to pay close attention to the last two victim deaths.” 

Dr. Baldwin sighs, “If you’re referring to me, I can assure you I had no idea what Gura was up to.” 

Steve crosses his arms, expression hard. “We have the morgue records. There’s a clear paper trail of you going to examine the bodies of the first two victims.”

“Yeah. They were my _patients_. I wanted to know what happened. Since when was that a crime.”

“Oh it’s not.” Tony chirps, “But realizing they were murdered and then keeping quiet probably is.” he puts a finger to his lips, turning to Steve, “I’m still new to this whole American law thing, but I’m pretty sure that’s a big no-no right?” 

“But that’s the thing.” Tony continues, “You saw the ischemia, connected the dots, and realized, you had a solution to all your problems. Because at the same time, you had made a mistake. A pretty big one. You left a clamp inside Allison Carter’s chest after a routine bypass surgery.”

Baldwin glares. “I’ve had enough of this slander.” he moves to get up but Steve takes a step forward, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Tony continues as though nothing were amiss. “It was inevitable that Miss. Carter would develop complications, “I mean, she had a _clamp_ in her chest. And the worst part is, her problem was easy to fix, just open her up and take out the clamp. But that’s the thing.” Tony tilts his head, “You were on probation. One more mess-up and it’d be kaput for you. Unless…unless the angel could make it all go away.” he finishes softly. 

“You realized he targeted patients who were terminally ill and in extreme amounts of pain, so you made her an attractive target.” Tony begins listing things off his fingers, his tone cruelly cavalier, “First, you found a biopsy for a patient dying of cardiac cancer, a bit of computer magic later, and bam, it’s Samantha’s file. Second, you made sure Allison wouldn’t get a second of peace, you made sure she was in pain so the angel would end her suffering. That was simple, you just reduced her pain meds, which also helped in making her too delirious to really talk to anyone at all. Third, the angel takes the bait and Allison dies.” 

“You thought you had gotten away with murder. But you didn’t, did you? Someone found you out. The second person to figure out there was an angel in their midst. May Parker found the signs of epinephrine overdose and started her own investigation. She was digging through the files and found George Miller’s. That wouldn’t be enough to tie it back to you but you couldn’t risk her finding about Allison Carter. If someone found the angel, that could lead everyone straight to you. So you killed her.”

By now, Baldwin was getting red, his entire body so tense it looked like he might burst. “I don’t know who that is.” he scoffs and Peter almost sees red.

“You’d like us to believe that, but it’s something her nephew said to me. That when he went to see his aunt in surgery, he saw you rushing from the observation window. At first, it struck me as a coincidence. But then I remembered the file she had in her room and started thinking, what if whoever knew about Gura knew about May.”

Tony shrugs, “After that, it was easy to work to find through the logs that you had taken over as lead on May Parker’s surgery, probably a safety precaution for you, if your original scheme hadn’t worked you could just botch the surgery. But you didn’t need to do that. You’re the head of one of the most important departments in this hospital. It would’ve been easy for you to go in and take May Parker’s medical file and find that she’d been prescribed bupropion. Getting a bottle of it from any nearby pharmacy would have been easy as was slipping it into her purse.”

“You can’t prove-”

“Actually,” Steve interjects, “we can. This,” he says, slapping down a grainy security cam photo, “is a picture of you at a Pharmacy on fifth getting a prescription we confirmed was the same kind found in May Parker’s purse.” 

“And what’s more interesting,” Tony continues, “is that we examined May’s tub of tea. Interesting flavor, a pumpkin rooibos tea. Side effects include agitation, insomnia, vomiting, and huh, whaddya know, seizures.” Tony slams his hands down on the table, voice picking up in rage, “You crushed high dosage bupropion pills into her tea knowing it would accumulate alongside all the rest she used to take right after the death of her husband. You knew that high doses at her age would trigger a seizure and you also knew it didn’t matter where it happened. As long as you could get her into a hospital bed, the angel would do the rest. But you were lucky. Her seizure happened when she was in a car, killing her far away from your crime scene.” 

Dr. Baldwin’s expression doesn’t change, but he lets out one slow breath and his whole body seems to shrink and Peter just- his knees buckle, colliding against a filing cabinet, straining his weight against it as though it could hold him and his grief upright. He’s sobbing, but it’s so intense it’s silent, his lungs not being able to take in enough air to even cry. His shoulders shake and his hands are pressed violently against his face like he could push all his sadness away but the weight is too much to bear and he falls to the ground. 

May was murdered. She was murdered. She was murdered. Murdered in the most despicable, premeditated way. Murdered because she knew too much. Murdered because she was brave and fearless and wanted justice. Murdered because she bore the burden alone. 

Tony continues to rail into the now silent doctor but Peter doesn’t want to hear about the evidence or the upcoming trial or his Miranda rights. He turns off the speaker and just ducks his head between his knees and finally lets himself have the breakdown he’d been avoiding all this time. 

He’s brought justice to May. 

He can cry now.   
\--------------------------------------------

Tony can hear Peter’s sobbing even through the thickness of the walls and when Steve takes Baldwin to holding, he asks Fury if he can keep the observation room off limits for a while. Just until he calms down. 

“I’ll let him cry it out now. He’s gonna have a lot to deal with when he comes out.” Fury says, lip pulled in a sympathetic line. “Funerals, wills, figuring out where to stay. It’s not gonna be easy.” 

There’s a hint in his voice somewhere. A map Tony doesn’t have a compass to read. He stares at the captain for a second before Fury just shakes his head and walks away. “You could try talking to him you know. Show the world some proof that you really have a heart in there instead of the tin can you like to pretend you have.”

Tony makes a face, somewhere between a glare and half-hearted sneer. He doesn’t need to stay here. He really ought to just leave. He’s not obligated to do anything and owes nothing to anyone. But he waits outside the door anyway. He waits until the sobbing stops and the sniffling gives way and then there’s just the empty silence after a long cry, the hint of defeat and exhaustion. Tony knocks twice before opening the door, standing over a still slouched Peter, eyes puffy and red. “Hey kid.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything. Tony really doesn’t expect him to. When his mother died…well…Tony might as well have disappeared off the face of the earth from how he little he wanted to exist in it after Maria left it. 

Peter’s still staring at him with those brown sad eyes and Tony still doesn’t know what he’s even doing here. He just knows that something inside him wouldn’t forgive him if he left. “I know this is probably the absolute worst timing in the world, but then again, is there ever really a good time for life-changing conversations?” 

Tony sighs, rubbing at his hair before sliding down the wall to sit next to Peter where he’s hunched against a filing cabinet. “You did really good kid. If it weren’t for you, I’d have had a lot harder of a time connecting all the dots. You made your aunt proud.” 

Peter’s lip wobbles and he curls in on himself. 

“And I know this is the last thing you want to talk about, but- you have a lot of choices in front of you Peter. And choices tend to be the worst thing in situations like these. But it is what it is. You could walk out that door and we’ll get you to any relative you want to live with. Or put you in touch with social services. Or I’ll give you every resource you need to get self-emancipated and you could go at it in the world any way you want.” 

Peter looks miserable. His lip trembling, fingers curling tighter around his sleeves. “Or,” Tony says softly, “you could come with me.” 

Tony doesn’t really realize he’s serious until the words are fully out of his mouth. He can’t believe he said them. He can’t even believe he’s _thought_ them. But they’re out and they’re heard and Peter’s eyes are wide and he’s completely frozen and Tony starts rambling because he doesn’t know what else to do in the silence between them. “I think you have the makings of a great detective in you. You’re sharp, smart, observant. With some training- a lot of training- you could really be something.”

“Of course, you’d come live with me in the brownstone free of charge and I’ll give you some money every month. Think of it as an internship stipend. You’d be like…an apprentice.” 

Peter still isn’t saying anything and Tony feels his cheeks warm and it’s…unusual…for him to feel flustered. He’s never caught unawares. He’s always one step ahead. 

But he’s never been good at things like this. 

“You don’t have to say yes obviously. It’s completely up to you. I just wanted you to know all your options…before you decided anything.” he stands up, not really looking anywhere in particular. “I just think it’s easier to rebuild your life when you have something to use as the bricks and mortar. You were good at the job. And just as important, I think you enjoyed it.” he catches Peter’s eye and flashes him a small smile. 

“But I’m sure you probably just wanna be alone now. God knows I did when it was my mom. But I’ll be out there if-”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter interrupts, sniffing and wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I want to go with you please.” 

Tony’s heart pounds. “Are you sure? This won’t be easy. The work is hard and my training is worse.” 

Miraculously, wondrously, Peter cracks the smallest of smiles. “Oh I’m sure.” his expression falls and it’s almost wistful, almost self-deprecating, “I don’t have any family. I only had May. And I don’t want to be a foster kid and I don’t want to be alone.” 

He’s a smarter kid than Tony was. Isolation had gotten him nowhere. It was branching out like a shy sapling that had shown him true happiness. He sees a flash of sharp and playful eyes. A sultry laugh. A bottle shattering on the floor. But happiness is all too fleeting. He pushes the thoughts away, looks at Peter, real and in front of him. He’s so young. Impressionable and malleable and eager to please. 

Tony doesn’t know what he’s doing. He has absolutely no clue. But he sees something in Peter. Something remarkable. Something that needed just a little bit more refining, a little bit more polish. And then it could be great. 

And maybe. _Maybe_. He liked the kid. Just a little. 

“This is weird right? It’s super weird. I feel like we’re in a cheesy Christmas movie.” 

“No offense Mr. Stark. But you’re like, the weirdest person I’ve ever met. And I just- don’t care anymore. About weird or normal or anything. I just wanted to make sure May could rest in peace, knowing whoever hurt her was put away. And now I just-” he stands up, legs shaking, “I really like what you do. You help people. And I want to help people too. I want to make sure everyone else gets justice too.” 

Tony stands with him, something like respect in his eyes. “Yeah. I think we can pull that off.” 

There’s a moment of silence before Peter starts walking to the door, sending him a little smirk as he goes by. “And if this is a cheesy Christmas movie, I’m still waiting for the really big Santa reveal and my Maserati.” 

Tony scoffs, walking in step with him, relieved they can banter instead of ruminating in grief. “Can you even _drive_? Do they teach toddlers that in school?” 

“I can drive!...kinda. I mean. I can _drive_ but I’ve never really…driven.” 

“That means no, by the way. In case you didn’t know that.” 

“Can you drive? You just uber everywhere!”

“Hey- I’m an adult. I have money. I might as well use it.” 

They bicker up until the uber comes and keep going as it drives. There’s something comforting about it. Something secretly tender. Peter doesn’t really know if he made the right choice and if this entire arrangement will implode into disaster or be the best thing that ever happened, but he’s open to trying and he’s willing to see what happens. 

They pull up in front of the brownstone and Tony’s phone dings. Tony whoops, getting out of the car quickly. “Pete, you’re just in luck. Brucie just finished the autopsy. The Delany case is back on track. Come on, I’ll get you up to speed inside.” 

Peter steps through the doors and knows he’s in an entirely different world. But instead of apprehension, he just feels hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at first I was like oh! Why not use Marvel characters as the extras! But then I realized I could never make one of the heroes the murderer and it would be so obvious who it was if I made them a villain so OC extras unfortunately is the only recourse :( 
> 
> Anyway, Peter deals with missing school and adjusting to his new life next chapter as the mystery of who killed Anabelle Delaney unfolds...


	3. The Redhead Curse

The Delaney case is put on hold. At least for Peter anyway. 

At first, the thought of delving into her murder alongside Tony had excited him. Distracted him. But as it happened, falling into a new bed in a new room in a new place with new people did nothing but remind him of everything he had lost and the second his face hit the pillow the tears spilled over his cheeks and didn’t stop. 

He doesn’t get out of bed for two and a half days. 

He feels dead himself. Like he isn’t even present, even when he’s awake. His thoughts are dreary and heavy and he feels like his entire soul has plummeted into the centre of the earth and his body trapped within its gravity. 

He doesn’t want to be awake. 

He doesn’t want to be awake. 

“Go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep.” his fingers dig into his scalp as he rocks himself back and forth on the mattress. “Please, please, please.” 

He hears shuffling outside his door, a lingering presence that finally decides to walk away. Peter curls in on himself tighter, catching a glimpse of the uneaten tray of food on his side-table. Tony comes in when he’s asleep. He takes out the tray of uneaten food and replaces it. And even though Peter doesn’t touch it, except to take a few sips of water so his lips don’t crack even more, he finds the gesture kind.

He can’t find the energy inside himself to appreciate it or be grateful. But he can acknowledge it as something caring- the efforts of a man who doesn’t know how to do more. Peter bites his lip to keep from whimpering. 

May would know what to do. 

The tears are salty on his tongue.

May always knew what to do. 

Eventually, Peter falls asleep again, and when he wakes, it’s pitch black outside and the moon shines through the giant windows at the end of the room. His door opens. His back is turned and he doesn’t bother moving. 

“I know you’re awake kid.” Tony says.

And his voice isn’t soft or gentle or any of that annoying overbearing stuff. He just says it. Like he would say anything else. 

Still, Peter can’t reply. 

“It’s been three days Peter.” He hears Tony suck in a breath before slowly edging his way closer. 

He hesitates for a few more seconds before setting himself down at Peter’s legs, hand poised in the air like he wants to pat him, but then decides against it at the last second. “I took care of May’s funeral arrangements. It’s tomorrow at twelve. I wanted to ask if there was anything you wanted to include- a favourite flower, or a…a poem or something.” 

Peter still doesn’t say anything and Tony finally musters up whatever he needed to rest his hand on his calf, squeezing. “When my mom died, I was a bit older than you. I was twenty-one. But I was a lot ruder than you and wilder and when my dad asked me what I wanted to do, I told him to fuck off because I was so mad at him.” he sighs, removing his hand, “I regret that every day. And I just want you to avoid that. If you can.”

Peter burrows deeper into the pillow, trying to hide his puffy eyes and red cheeks. They sit there in silence for a long time. Longer than Peter thought Tony would wait for. But Tony just sits there, at the edge of his bed. Peter doesn’t even know if he’s looking at him. Finally, Peter opens his mouth, his throat feels raspy and his voice sounds as much. “She used to like the tulips in the park.” his mouth wobbles and he has to take a big breath to keep his voice steady. “We tried planting some in a planter on our window but we both have really black thumbs or something because they never grew.” 

Tony nods. “Tulips. I can do that.” 

Peter licks his lips, “Umm, she uhh- she used to joke about how she wanted Hallelujah to play at her funeral. The KD Lang version.” his lip moves in a shadow of a smile, “That was the only great one she said.”

“Oh yeah. Excellent choice. She had great taste.”

Peter sniffles. “Yeah. She was the best.” 

“You think you’re up for saying that out loud to everyone tomorrow, or you wanna keep it lowkey?”

The tears he thought he had barricaded away drip traitorously down his cheek. “Do you think she’d be mad if I didn’t?” 

“I think she’d want you to do whatever it is you need to.” Tony gets up, walks closer to the top of the bed so that he can see Peter right in his grief, “But if you wanted to try and write something down, I think that might be helpful too.” he throws his hands up, “But no pressure though kid. Just take things one thing at a time.” 

Tony pats him on the shoulder one more time and leaves. Peter hides under his blankets. His breaths are the only thing he can hear in the quiet of the night. The stars glitter and Peter can’t look away. The moon fades as the sky is infused with twilight’s breaking. And when he sees the purple and pinks- a sign of a new day- Peter sits up, downs the entire glass of water, forces himself to eat the toast and other stomach sensitive foods laid out on the tray and shakily reaches for the pad and pen Tony had conveniently left behind. His hand trembles. He clicks the pen open, taps it against the page. He feels like he knows exactly what to say and yet like he doesn’t have a single word to articulate it. Every idea feels intangible, vague, emotional, too in his own head to be expressed to the world. 

And yet, from the second the nib touches the paper, his hand flies across the page and line and after line spills from his heart and he isn’t crying but this feels more therapeutic than any tear could be. And he writes and he writes and he knows he won’t say most of this- can’t even bear to form the words with his mouth- but it feels good. Achingly good, to spill his love and gratitude and adoration so that it doesn’t consume him whole. 

And he’s lucky. He’s lucky that his last words and moments were so typically them, funny and tender. And he’s lucky that they didn’t fight or that he might have missed her altogether. But it’s also unfair. So ridiculously, unjustly, horrifically, unfair that they had their whole lives and it was over before it really got the chance to take off. 

But he had sixteen years. Eight-hundred and thirty-two months. Five thousand eight-hundred and forty days. He could go into the minutes- the seconds even- but he wants to take this exact moment to say thank you. 

She had made his childhood something great. 

He writes the last lines. Sets the pad on his night-table. He takes a breath, looks out and sees the dawn. Slowly, he moves until his feet just barely touch the floor. His fingers curl into the blanket and then he’s up. He feels like a sapling, bowing to the wind, but he steadies himself and though his legs are shaky, he walks out the bedroom door into the bathroom. He strips his clothes and thinks he kind of wants to burn them. Those were the clothes everything happened in. He looks in the mirror, at his chapped lips and raw skin. This is what he looked like when the world fell apart. 

He doesn’t want this face anymore. 

He steps into the shower and the water is sharp, then warms, and he stands there, underneath the stream, for a long, long time. He scrubs at himself and suds fly everywhere, but he wants to be pristine, picture perfect- for May. 

There’s a new toothbrush still in its case and some toothpaste at the sink and he makes quick use of it. In the end, he’s standing in his towel, ready to get dressed when he realizes that he has absolutely nothing at all. Not a single possession. 

The thought makes him almost want to laugh. 

But when he arrives at his bedroom, there’s a box, crudely labeled ‘clothes’. Peter’s brows furrow and he cranes his neck to see past the banister to see piles of boxes near the front door all labeled as ‘clothes’ or ‘knick knacks’ and- Peter frowns- ‘dork stuff’. 

And it’s a little overwhelming. How efficient Tony is. How far his brain reaches to be able to think of every little thing Peter might need before Peter himself even knew. It’s…it’s a lot. It’s daunting and it’s intimidating in its care, and Peter doesn’t really know how to process any of it, so he goes into his room instead. Changes, puts on clean underwear.

Sometimes, it’s the little things that made the world of a difference. 

Tony comes knocking at his door at ten-thirty. “Ready to go?” 

Peter’s decked out in the suit from the box. It’s old. Ben’s. And it doesn’t fit right and he has to roll the cuffs a bit and he looks absolutely stupid next to Tony and his incredibly fitting three piece suit, but this is what he wants to wear. This is what he needs to wear. 

Tony seems to get it. 

“Yeah, I’m ready.” he says softly. 

The ride to the service is quiet, but not awkward. It’s just…quiet. “Thanks.” Peter says, glancing quickly at Tony, “For uhh, for getting me all my stuff and the- the toothbrush and,” his fingers grip the speech in his pocket, “you know…just…thanks.” 

Tony clears his throat, smoothing out his pant legs, “Yeah. Well. You know. Duty calls. Wouldn’t want you to go about your day with bad breath right?”

Neither of them really laugh but Tony breaks something in that moment, something heavy, and Peter feels just a little lighter. 

The service is beautiful. As far as any funeral service can be beautiful anyway. Hallelujah plays and it’s haunting, but not in a bad way. Marisa says a few words at the podium and Peter’s deeply glad May was so loved by someone besides just him. Peter is invited to speak and he feels frozen to his chair, his limbs catatonic. 

Beside him, Tony grips the back of his neck with strong fingers and Peter remembers what he said about his own mom. Maybe May wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t say anything. But she deserved for him to. And Tony’s hand is warm and solid and reassuring and Peter turns his face and catches his eye. Tony’s expression doesn’t change, he just gives him the slightest of nods. And Peter stands. 

“When I had nothing, I always had May. She was someone you could always rely on, whether it’s if you needed a pick me up, or good advice, or a really lame joke.” he cracks a smile, his lip trembling for just a moment, “May was amazing at everything she did except cook. But it was okay because we both liked pizza and Thai food too much anyway.”

“She was the best person I know because she had every good quality I hope to have too someday. She was kind, she was always so nice to everyone all the time, and she was a positive person, even when things were hard for us- and there were a lot of hard times- she always saw the better side of things. May was funny, sometimes without even trying to be. And she was hardworking and brave. May helped solve a crime that led to her own death, but she died trying to right something terrible. She had more courage than anyone else I knew. She had the courage to take a kid that wasn’t hers in and love me like I was her own, she had the courage to keep going after Ben left, and she had the courage to do what was right in the end.”

“May Parker raised me and believed in me and loved me and I don’t know how I’m going to do any of this without her. I honestly can’t even think about it. But I know she knew that I love her, more than everything else. And I hope she knew that she was the greatest. The best mom I could have asked for.” 

Tears, though not entirely unhappy, pool at his lashes. He stands under the hot light and looks out into the crowd of other people who loved May and he feels a familiar hole that aches in his heart right next to Ben’s and he knows that it’ll never really go away. But he also knows that remembering her with all their good memories makes the hole fester less and eventually, the pain wouldn’t be so sharp anymore. 

He looks into the crowd and sees Tony. He’s smiling. He almost looks proud. 

 

The rest of the funeral goes by in a blur and when they bury May into the ground, right next to Ben, Peter feels a loneliness so deep it feels like he ceases to exist. There’s a hand on his shoulder. It’s awkward and heavy and hesitating before a squeeze. But it’s something. It’s someone. 

The loneliness looms over him. But it’s not as all consuming as before. 

“Can we go home now?” Peter asks. 

“Yeah kid. Let’s get outta here.” 

They turn to go before a cough has them turning around. Captain Nick Fury stands, hands clasped in front of him. “I’m sorry for your loss Peter, but if you don’t mind, I need a quick word with Tony.”

Peter nods, watching them walk away with trepidation. He sees them turn a corner before they’re completely out of sight. 

“What’s so important you had to talk to me at a funeral?” Tony prods, leaning against the wall.

“I heard you were taking in the kid.” Fury says, brow raised. 

Tony tenses, trying to keep his nonchalant façade. “And?”

“Well, I’m just not sure it’s the best idea.” Fury says. 

“Oh? Wanna share with the class?” 

“Well for starters, how many days of classes has he missed so far?” 

“It’s June.” Tony scoffs, “He can miss a few days. Besides, I’ve already emailed them asking for extensions for his finals. He’ll be fine.” 

“Alright Tony.” Fury leans against the wall, arms crossed, “And what about you?” 

“What _about_ me?” 

“I know about the rehab.” Fury says. And there’s no judgement or condescension. He’s just stating a fact. A failure. 

Tony freezes. 

“It’s okay. I know about London.”

“You don’t.” Tony hisses.

“Maybe not the details. But I know you were in London, then something happened, and the great Tony Stark became an addict.”

They’re silent for a few moments. “You could have just told me.” Fury says quietly, “I knew and I still let you be a consultant.” 

Tony bows his head. 

“But this isn’t about that. This is about you being a fit guardian. Which I’m not convinced about by the way.” 

Tony’s eyes snap up. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah.” Fury’s voice hardens, “You _will_ be.” 

 

Fury and Tony talk for a long time before Peter sees them come around the corner again. Tony’s jaw is clenched, a tense quality in him as he walks back over to him. Fury waves to Peter from the wall and Peter hesitantly waves back. 

“Everything okay Mr. Stark?”

Tony scowls before schooling his expression, “Just dandy. You ready to go?”

Peter nods and they get into the car and the city blurs by. Peter thinks about going back to his apartment. Of his and May’s home. But it would be empty now. Tony had already brought all his stuff- May’s too. Would there be any point in seeing it bare? Wouldn’t it hurt more? What mattered in that place was May. 

Always May. 

And now May was gone, but he still had her things. Her mementos. Their shared memories. It isn’t enough. Can’t ever even come close to enough. But it’s something. And Peter’s tired of crying and feeling empty deep where it counts. He wants to feel something. He wants to be useful. 

He sucks in a breath, turning to Tony. “Mr. Stark, did you solve the Delaney case yet?” 

Tony looks at him with a neutral face. “No.” he says slowly, “But you don’t have to get into it.” 

“I want to. I want to…” he looks away, “I just want May to be proud of me. And when Ben died, she let me be sad for as long as I needed but she also made sure I got out of bed and did something with myself. I don’t want to lie down and cry all day anymore.” 

Tony softens. “You’re a good kid Peter. I have no doubts in my mind that your aunt was proud of you.”

Peter tries to muster up a smile. 

“Alright. I’ll bring you up to speed. After we settled the angel’s case, we interviewed Mr. Delaney again. He insisted he didn’t hurt his wife. And I believed him. Steve was obviously all indignant about it, but.” Tony shrugs. 

“How did you know it wasn’t him?”

“The footprint I showed you three days ago, it was a size eleven. Mr. Delaney has a size eight. And his hands. They’re too small. The strangulation bruises on Mrs. Delaney’s neck were too wide, they were made by a much taller and heavier guy. So, then I waltzed in and asked for all the tall guys in his life and it led me to Jagmeet Patil.” 

“Sleazy kinda guy. Made a pass at Annabelle at a party. But he _did_ have photos of her pre-surgeries which was helpful. But he also didn’t do it.” 

Peter frowns, “Okay…so if all your suspects didn’t do it, then…what now?”

“Now!” Tony announces, “We’re going to go to the police station and look through all their unsolved cases. A theory’s been brimming around in my head the past couple days.” Peter looks up expectantly. 

Tony doesn’t disappoint. 

“I think our guy’s experienced. I think he’s done the same thing before.” 

Peter furrows his brows, before looking up, something dawning in his eyes. “The ring box?”

“The ring box.” Tony confirms 

Peter nods, feeling sick, “Only that type of killer takes trophies.” 

Thor greets them in the bullpen. “Anthony! Peter! Good to see you!” he booms.

“Hey Point Break, how’s it hanging?” Tony breezes by, clapping Thor on the shoulder, “Mind if I take over the conference room again?”

“Trying to one up us again?” Steve calls from his desk, but he looks fond enough.

“Something like that. Come on Pete, we got a lot of digging to do.” 

Three hours later, the two of them have a small stack of files of unsolved strangulation cases involving women. Tony picks them up, scanning through them before dumping all of them onto the floor and handing Peter the one in his hand. “This is it.”

Peter reads aloud. “Amy Cavill. Beaten and strangled by an intruder in the Bronx. A jewelry box was stolen. Left behind a size 11 footprint…” he looks up, eyes wide.

“More importantly, look at the physical similarities between her and Annabelle. Curvy, long red hair, white.” 

Peter snaps the file shut. “The killer has a type.” he nods slowly, then pauses, “But…Amy’s still alive.”

Tony’s eyes practically glow. “Exactly.” 

 

 

Amy’s house is spotless. It’s small and modern and ordered so meticulously Peter’s almost afraid to sit. But Tony just throws himself onto the armchair without any aplomb and slowly, Peter follows suit. 

Amy had been hesitant to let them in, but upon seeing Tony’s insistence, reluctantly opened the door. She sat across from them, staring at a picture of Annabelle with a sad expression. “I’m sorry.” she finally says, “I can see why you think it might be the same guy.” 

She shakes her head, “I just don’t think I can help you.” 

Tony is undaunted. “The police report said the man who assaulted you wore a mask, but you can still help us identify him.” 

Amy is unresponsive. 

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No.” a pause, and seeing that Tony wasn’t going to let up, a sigh, “I came in through my front door, and he was just there.”

“Okay, what about his smell? Any specific scent?”

“No? I don’t think so.”

“Tall, short, medium?”

“I don’t know.” Anabelle’s voice tightens, “He was on top of me so quickly and his hands were around my throat.” 

“What about the mask? What do you remember? Was it ski? Mexican wrestling? Paper plate?” 

Her expression darkens like she’s slowly losing patience. “ _Ski_.” 

Tony falls back into his seat. “Fantastic. So you saw his eyes.” She gives him a look, “I mean, you can’t really get strangled unless someone is literally inches away from your face, right?” 

Amy shrinks back into the wall. “Come on, I’m probably, what? Two feet away from you right now and even I can see your eyes are brown, so what colour were his-”

“I want you to leave now.” Amy says, voice low, her posture hunched and defensive. 

Tony tilts his head. “Why? Because I know you’re lying?” 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter interjects but Tony waves his hand behind his back as though to shush him.

“No, no she is. You can tell by her necklace. She fiddles with it every time I ask her a question. God, I have to give you so many books to read if you can’t notice _that_.” irate now, Tony leans forward in his seat, expression accusing and almost cruel, “She’s definitely lying. She saw his face and she probably even knows who he _is_.” 

Amy’s eyes film over, her cheeks reddening, trying to contain herself. “Get out.” she hisses.

But Tony won’t relent. Refuses to. “You realize, that because you chose to protect him two years ago you gave him the opportunity to _murder_ someone?? You have blood on your hands Amy. But I guess you’re waiting for a third, fourth, maybe fifth victim-”

“Mr. Stark! Stop it!” Peter shoots up, eyes blazing. “Stop it.” he says again, “You should just- you should just go wait outside. Please.”

Tony stares at him and Peter doesn’t know what expression that is, but the man gives one last look at Amy, and then stands. 

“What a jerk.” Amy says, the second he’s gone.

“I’m so sorry Miss. Cavill. He’s not…he’s not usually like that. He just gets all passionate about the case and it makes him…I’m sorry.” And Peter hopes he looks as sincere as he feels.

“Annabelle Delaney was in the prime of her life and she was murdered, and we just want to help bring her husband closure. So if there’s anything you know…please…”

A tear dribbles down Amy’s cheek and she twists her lip. She looks like she’s in pain and Peter suddenly feels a surge of empathy for her. He doesn’t know why she’s hiding the man’s name, but he can see how much it’s breaking her. 

“Okay.” she says softly, wiping her tears, “Okay.” 

Tony’s leaning against a pole when Peter walks out, frowning. “That wasn’t nice, what you did inside. She was only acting that way because she knew who attacked her. It was her brother’s best friend, Mike Saldua. His dad was abusive so her parents took him in when they were in high school. He works at a florist shop now.” 

Tony looks smug. “I knew it.”

Peter gapes. “Excuse me?”

“I knew that if I started a big fight, you’d come to her defense and she would warm up to you.”

Peter stares, squinting like he isn’t sure he’s hearing right. He frowns, pointing. “Liar.” 

Tony makes a face, but doesn’t argue, just takes his phone out and dials Fury’s number. “You should go apologize.” Peter says, as the dial tone rings.

Tony sighs. “I get it. I lost it. I shouldn’t have.” 

“No you shouldn’t have.” Peter agrees. “She was wrong though…she should’ve told someone.” 

Tony looks almost sad. “People say love makes us good. But often, it’s what pushes us to evil instead.” 

Fury picks up and Tony puts it on speaker. “Stark.”

“Captain, I found the name of an extremely strong suspect for the Delaney case-”

“Wouldn’t happen to be Mike Saldua by any chance would it?” 

Tony and Peter stare at each other. “I’m at his house now, looking right at him.”

“Ok great, he’s in police custody.” 

“Well…technically.” Fury sighs, “He’s dead.” 

 

Tony and Peter race to Saldua’s apartment. It’s in a dingy building in a part of town neglected by the city’s tax dollars. The inside is cramped, messy, everything everywhere. The most notable feature however, is Saldua’s body, spread eagle on the floor, a pool of blood beneath him, and a bullet wound in his head, gun still in his hand. 

“What happened here?” Tony asks as Steve shakes his head.

“Mailman called it in, said he saw someone dead on his route, that he might have killed himself. And,” he shrugs, “he was right.” 

“And that’s not all, when we were searching the place, we found the ring box.” 

But Peter’s barely paying attention, he can’t stop staring at the mess the bachelor room had become. All along the back wall were photographs of Annabelle pinned haphazardly atop each other. In the other corner, the washing machine was tipped over, clothes spilling out of it and muddy foot prints along the side. Behind it, a pantry filled with pasta, rice, and the odd condiment jar. Peter pulls his lip. Something isn’t right here. All the pieces of the puzzle were seemingly all together and yet there was something niggling at him, a feeling he couldn’t let go of.

Thor steps out from behind the bed, “Turns out that Saldua worked at the florist that the Delaneys used to decorate their home. It explains why Annabelle let him in when he killed her.” 

Tony’s mouth thins. He jerks his head to the washing machine, “What happened over there?”

Thor shrugs. “Laundry mishap?” 

Tony looks unconvinced but Peter’s too busy staring at the phone charger still plugged into the wall. “Hey uhh…did you guys already grab his phone?”

Tony turns expectantly to Fury. “Did you?” 

“Hasn’t turned up yet.” the captain replies. “But it will.” 

Tony turns around, examines the kitchen. Atop the stove there’s a little shelf with some off the counter medicines and some prescribed bottles. He pulls one off the shelf, an opaque bottle of Xanax, 1 milligram per tablet. The pills clattered as he shakes it. 

“Mr. Stark.” Peter interrupts his thoughts, “They’re saying we have to leave.”

“Yeah…it’s pretty open and shut isn’t it…” he replies, like he isn’t quite present.

“It looks like it…but…” Peter’s eyes catch his.

Tony nods, “But indeed.” 

 

It’s all over the news an hour later. Mr. Delaney’s press conference thanking the police is on every channel. It’s playing in the background as Tony sits cross legged on the floor, staring at his case collage on the wall. There are photos of Annabelle before and after, some notes about Saldua, and all sorts of other evidence. Peter watches him from the dining table, spoon deep in some canned soup. 

“She had her mole removed.” Tony’s still staring intently at the photos, “When she did the surgery.” he squints, “That doesn’t make any sense. She loved that mole.” 

Peter tilts his head, questioning.

“Her photos.” Tony answers, “She turned her head to feature it whenever she took a photo.”

Peter looks at the printed photos from her Facebook and nods, seeing the pattern. “And she was already pretty. She was just as pretty before and after, so why did she bother doing it then? Especially if she loved that part of herself.” 

Tony purses his lips. “I don’t know. And then there’s the thing with Saldua’s phone records. That guy was obsessed with his phone, he was using it all day every day until days ago, he just stopped. Out of the blue. Whoosh.” he makes a little explosion gesture, “Not a single call or text. Why?”

“Meanwhile,” Tony continues, “his bank statements show several checks made out to Dr. Roland, a psychologist. Which makes sense, considering the Xanax I found.” 

“Okay!” Peter perks up, “We should talk to him.”

“Yeah, we should. Can’t though.” Tony sighs dramatically, “Since he’s dead.” 

Peter bites his lip. Tony claps his hands. “But! Whoever said dead men tell no tales lied.” 

 

 

They meet up with Fury at a cafe later that night. If Fury’s surprised to see Peter there, he doesn’t show it, just slides over a file across the table. “Everything your dead doctor had on my dead stranger.” 

Tony wrinkles his nose. “It’s dusty.”

Fury gives him a look. “I don’t know what you were expecting Tony. This guy’s been dead for almost two years and his widow kept all these in storage in her basement. You’re lucky I even got them.” 

Cowed, Tony makes a funny face, “Yeah, alright. Okay. Thanks.” 

Fury leans back. “I skimmed over them on my way here. Saldua never told him about the attack on Amy, but he _did_ talk extensively about his obsession with redheaded women and that he had a tendency towards violence.” 

Tony glanced at Peter, brows raised. Quickly, he delves into the file himself, breezing past the pages faster than Peter could hope to match. Tony nods, something energetic sizzling through him, “Yes…taken to recording our sessions with his phone so he can listen to them again and again.” he reads.

He pauses, snapping up to Fury. “The phone. Find it yet?” 

Fury shakes his head. 

Tony purses his lip, turning back to the file when he catches sight of Peter with an odd look on his face. “Earth to Peter.” He waves his hand around and Peter blinks at him, looking like something was bothering him.

“Mr. Stark…he said he was violent and he obviously wanted help if he was recording their conversations but…when we went to his apartment, the washing machine, it was tipped over. And his footprints were smeared on it like he was kicking it. But he was supposed to be taking medication.” 

Tony blinks, “ _Yes_.” he breathes, snapping his fingers, “Rage. He felt _rage_.” 

Tony claps him on the shoulder, squeezing, then turns to Fury. “You’ve been a great help bossman, but we gotta jet. Parker? Let’s go.” 

Peter rushes out the door with him, trying to keep up. “Mr. Stark?”

“I knew I was right about you Peter. Saldua, he felt rage when he killed Annabelle Delaney. When it was Amy, he had some measure of control, he didn’t kill her. But with Annabelle? Zilch, nada. _Why_?” 

Peter stares. 

“The Xanax. I knew there was something weird about those pills but it never occurred to me someone might have switched them.” He pulls out his phone, pressing it against his ear impatiently.

“Steve? Yeah, it’s me. Listen, the pills, from Saldua’s apartment, the Xanax. The pills inside should be white and ovular, but they’re not are they? They’re round and pink right?”

They wait a few moments before Steve confirms and Tony clicks the phone shut. “We have to get to Sanbridge Hospital.” 

Peter just nods clumsily as he calls for the Uber.

Minutes later, they’re speed walking down the parking lot when Mr. Delaney comes walking by, pressing the unlock button on his car key. Tony wastes no time.

“You were Saldua’s last therapist weren’t you? You started treating him, what? Maybe a few months before you talked your wife into doing all those plastic surgeries?

The man stops, a dark look in his eye. “Excuse me?”

But Tony refuses to back down. “Saldua wanted to fix himself. Dr. Jessup was his first attempt, you were his second. But that guy’s luck just really was the worst huh? Him, finding you, a man with a wife he wanted dead treating Saldua, a man with an obsessive personality and a history of violence.” 

Mr. Delaney still doesn’t say anything. 

“Only problem was, Annabelle didn’t fit his victim profile did she? But you fixed that right up by pressuring her to change what she looked like until she did.” 

Mr. Delaney smiled, folding his hands in front of him, “Mr. Stark right? We met the other day?”

Tony ignores him. “The pills from Saldua’s home came from _you_.” Tony pokes him square in the chest so hard he steps back, “Probably stole it from the hospital, impossible to trace. Saldua thought he was taking tranquilizers but really, you were giving him a steroid. You were whipping him into a killing frenzy. A frenzy that only made him more and more confused, more violent, and more likely to give into the one thing he was trying desperately not to do.” Tony’s voice darkens as his own rage grows and grows. 

But Mr. Delaney is unmoved, just keeps smiling that slimy smile. “I never even heard of Mike Saldua until the police told me he was the man who killed Annabelle.” 

“ _Bullshit_.” 

Peter watches as Tony grows more irate, “You probably took to meeting at odd places at odd times so you would never be seen together, and when the time was right, you took advantage of his job as a delivery man to place him right at your wife’s doorstep. You arranged for flowers to be sent to the house once a week so that he would see her.”

“You needed him to become obsessed with her.” Tony shakes his head, the disgust brimming off of him, “You loaded him up like a weapon when all he wanted was to change and you pointed him directly at your own wife.” 

Mr. Delaney tenses, shaking his head. “You’re insane. “

“No, _he_ was insane. And you took advantage of him you sick son of a bitch.” Tony shrugs, looking mockingly nonchalant. “And then, I guess you murdered him yourself, staged a suicide. Then took his phone, because you had to obviously, he was recording all your sessions.” 

The man assesses him, looking eerily inhuman in the flickering streetlight. “Hypothetically, Mr. Stark, a man wants out of his marriage to a very wealthy wife. The same man who knows they have a prenup that gives him nothing if he leaves her and a trust that will give him everything if she dies.” he cocks his head, “Hypothetically, wouldn’t that man be smarter to look for a way to trigger the events of the second option as opposed to the first?” 

Delaney smiles again, unlocks his car again, and walks away. Tony takes a step forward, looking like he wants to pounce but Peter grabs his arm, pulling him closer. Tony takes a heaving breath but finally untenses. “He did it.” he says, voice low.

“Yeah, I know. But…we don’t have proof.” Peter replies.

The light flickers behind them and Delaney drives away. 

 

 

When they arrive at home, Tony stalks off to the basement and heavy rock music blasts from below. Peter heads into the kitchen, opening the fridge listlessly only to find he isn’t hungry. The entire day had been a rush but this place reminded him of things he’d rather forget. The weight of it all sends him down onto the dining chair where the entirety of the Delany case files are spread messily across the table. He rifles through some of them, not really looking at them but needing the feeling that he was doing something when something catches his eye. 

It’s Saldua’s medical file. He skims it, stopping near the end and re-reading. “Wait a minute.” he murmurs, shooting up and running to the living room where the collage is still up.

He finds the picture he’s looking for, the one with the washing machine tipped over and rips it off the wall, staring closer at it. Eyes widening, he rushes down the basement stairs, the music blaring so loud he can feel the bass in his lungs. “Mr. Stark!” he yells but Tony is facing the other way, lost in thought as he screws a part into some sort of machine on a long table.

Peter looks around, sees the walls lined with carpentry and mechanic tools, finished projects lying around and various art pieces that don’t seem to match pinned up in random places. Most noticeable was a poster for a ballet, La Bayader, a scrawled, ‘For Tony’ on the bottom. “Mr. Stark?” Peter calls again and this time Tony whirls around, ripping his goggles off.

“Kid? What are you doing here?”

Excitedly, Peter shoves his findings into his hands. “Look at the allergy section.” 

Tony looks the paper and then the photo, and grins. 

 

“Mr. Delaney!” Tony greets, from where he’s perched atop of Fury’s desk while Fury sighs in his chair. 

The man isn’t impressed. “I already said everything I needed to say to you and the NYPD, I’m this close to suing for harassment.” 

Fury raises his hands in a calming gesture, “Settle down Mr. Delaney, we just have one question.” his voice drops, “Did you ever treat Mike Saldua as a patient?”

“This again? No. I never treated him and I never even met him.” 

Tony curls his lip looking like he wants to say something, but then takes a breath. Peter catches his eye and Tony nods. Heart fluttering a little, Peter hands Delaney a file, “Mr. Delaney, that’s a medical form for Mr. Saldua and if you look at the bottom, it shows that he had a really bad allergy to rice.” 

Delaney moves to get up, “This is ridiculous.” But the sound of the door shutting and Thor grinning cheerfully from in front of it makes him sit back down.

“As my protegee was saying.” Tony says, waving his hand with a flourish.

Peter tries to mask his grin, “Uhh, yes, right. Mr. Saldua’s allergy was bad so it’s weird then, that he had a huge bag of rice in his apartment.” He pulls out the washing machine photo and slaps it on Fury’s desk where the bag is perched within the pantry.

“We also found a credit card receipt that showed he bought the bag exactly three days before his death.” Tony supplements, “Weird right? Guy goes into the store to buy the one thing he can’t eat?” 

“What’s even weirder,” Peter continues, “is that it’s the same day he stopped using his phone. At first, we thought it was by choice, that he went AWOL from the world, but then I remembered the washing machine.” 

“So,” Tony clasps his hands, “what do a bag of rice and an overturned washing machine have to do with anything? Well for starters, they proved me wrong.” he pins Delaney with his stare, “You never took Saldua’s phone even though you wanted it so bad you killed him for it. The problem was, you just couldn’t find it could you?” 

Tony points to the photo again, “You couldn’t find it because he washed it and by the time he realized, it was too late. His phone filled with therapy sessions wasn’t working anymore and furious at himself and also hyped on all the steroids you were giving him, he attacked the washer in a rage, went to the nearest grocery, and bought a bag of rice to put his phone inside to maybe save it.” 

Tony smirks as Peter pulls the phone out of his pocket, shaking it around. “Guess what we found in his rice bag Mr. Delaney?” 

Peter is quick to open the right audio file and the sound of Saldua’s pleading voice is enough to make the blood drain from Delaney’s face. Mostly though, Peter’s just heartbroken for Saldua, too much so to really take any joy from Delaney’s moment of realization that it was all over for him. 

Saldua’s voice cracks, “Her name is Annabelle. And umm, when I- when I see her, I get these, these _feelings_ , and I- please Dr. Delaney, please, you need to help me. You need to tell me how to stop myself from hurting her.” he sobs. 

“I don’t want to hurt her. Please!”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Delany’s breath hitches when he hears his own voice, “I’m here for you. Let’s try upping your meds, see where that leads us.” 

Peter stops the recording. “You killed your wife and manipulated and killed someone who came to you for help. They both deserved better.” Peter says quietly. 

When Peter looks at Tony’s face, he’s proud. “Captain?” Tony asks. 

Fury nods, gesturing for Thor, “Lock him up.” 

 

 

Tony wraps his arm around Peter’s shoulders as they walk out of the precinct. “You did good in there kid.” 

Peter’s lip quirks up, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. So? How do you feel? Your first wrapped case as a detective in training. Do you feel like you could punch the sun or something?” Tony teases and Peter laughs, shaking Tony off of him.

“I’m feeling pretty hungry honestly.”

Tony blinks, “Oh right. Food. Shoot.” he pauses, “You like Thai?”

Something nostalgic warms inside him. “I love it.” he says softly. 

Later, when they’re back home, the doorbell rings and Tony comes back holding a box of tulips in little soil packs. Peter’s understandably confused. “Whatcha got there Mr. Stark?” 

Tony looks only marginally uncomfortable when he holds the box out. “First, I wanted to say that you were right before. About…the whole Amy incident. I didn’t know she’d react that way. But losing it in front of you was…not something I wanted to do, especially now that I have to be on the straight and narrow.”

Peter furrows his brows, concerned. “What do you mean?”

Tony sets down the tulips. “Yesterday, at the funeral, when Fury wanted to talk to me. He said he’d support my plan with bringing you in if I could meet some of his…conditions.” 

“Conditions?”

Tony frowns, looking annoyed, but Peter knows it’s not at him. “Ok, listen. I wasn’t completely honest about everything and if you’re going to be living with me then you’re going to need to know a few things.”

He takes a breath. “I’m an alcoholic. Recovering obviously. To keep the brownstone, I can’t ever relapse. And to keep _you_ , I have to start going to meetings and finding a sponsor. So if I disappear for an hour or two and there’s a person sniffing around in my life, that’s that.” 

Peter nods, eyes judgement free. “Is that why you left London?” he asks, “To start over?” 

Tony looks surprised. “Who told you about that.”

Peter shrugs, looking coy. “Sources.” 

Tony gives him a look, but he’s wryly amused. “Oh really now?” 

“Was it…was it about your mom?” Peter asks in a quiet voice. 

Tony blinks, feeling that familiar defensiveness crawl up. But he looks at Peter and knows it’s not really about Tony is it. “No. My dabbles in alcohol came a little after. What can I say? Life’s a tragedy.” He jokes, but it’s dark.

There’s a quiet lull. “All you need to know about London is that I don’t want to go back and that who I was there and who I was up until my father forced me into rehab in New York are not who I am today. I told you I would house you and train you into being a detective and I’m going to do that.”

“I don’t know Mr. Stark,” Peter shrugs, a bit of a shit-eating grin growing on his face, “you promised an unholy grind but you’re pretty soft as a teacher.”

Tony looks aghast “How dare you.” 

He grabs the tulips again, “Come on, your first lesson starts now.” 

Peter trails along, grinning. “I’ve planted a series of medicinal herbs and poisons in my garden and you’re going to learn to distinguish between them and memorize their effects.” 

“Are you telling me I could kill someone with a tulip?” 

“ _No_.” Tony’s quick to say, “I just thought it would be nice to plant them, for your aunt.” 

Peter stops, looks at him like he doesn’t know what to say. Tony back-tracks, “Or, if this is a terrible idea, just say the word and I’ll dump them right outside-”

“No!” Peter interjects, “No.” he says again, “I just…I was just surprised, that’s all. I’d…really like that.” 

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” 

Later, when Peter looks out of his bedroom, he sees a patch of tulips bright against the scape of green. It reminds him of May’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm and the secrets of Tony's past get more interesting to Peter by the day...
> 
> Next chapter!


	4. Demons Wear $5000 Suits

ONE MONTH AND TWO WEEKS LATER

Peter bursts into the seventh precinct frantically, rushing right by Steve. “Woah! Hey, Peter, what’s wrong?”

But Peter doesn’t stop running, just surges past him until he sees Fury’s office. Without knocking, he storms through, panting. “I need your help.” he gasps.

Fury’s face turns wary. “What happened?”

“It’s Mr. Stark. He’s missing. I think something happened.” Peter’s lip wobbles, “I think he might have relapsed.” 

 

Tony groans, his head pounds and he blinks though the daze. When he opens his eyes it’s dim and he can barely see a thing. His head bangs against the back wall and he realizes he’s in the back of a car. He looks down, pulls at his wrists to see that they’re cuffed, the skin chafing from all the tugging. When he tries to twist around, he flails and it’s then he notices his zip-tied feet. 

He looks out the window, it’s dark, cloudy, just a flurry of trees. 

He sees the driver. 

And the gun. 

_Shit._

 

TWO DAYS EARLIER 

“Mr. Stark you’re _late_. You’re LAAAATEEE!!!” Peter yells, banging on the basement door.

It’s locked- which is so _typical_ \- but Peter knows for a fact that Tony can hear him. “Mr. Staa-aa-aark!!” he yells again.

AC/DC blasts from below and Peter sighs, his head thumping against the door. “Fine.” he mutters, “I’ll just do it myself.” 

He heads back into the living room, grabbing a little zippered pouch. He opens it to reveal a plethora of lockpicks and carefully inserts one of the tinier ones in and wiggles it around. 

It doesn’t work.

But Peter keeps trying, biting his lip to stay focused. Ever since the plant exercise a month ago, Tony had been keeping him ridiculously busy with all sorts of tasks. This week’s training was about identifying hand-writing tells and matching samples. It was fascinating stuff, but also just the tiniest bit boring, but Peter kept at it, determined to learn. And while lock-picking had been one of the first things Tony had trained him to do, he still needed some practice.

Luckily for him, if time was currency, he’d be rich. Peter had completed his final exams two weeks ago and was now officially on summer break, which meant he could dedicate himself to his detective studies full-time. It _also_ meant, that he could be on Tony’s case 24/7. 

Which obviously, Tony loved.

The lock clicks open and Peter whoops, racing down the stairs to catch Tony trying to sneak out from the basement window. “Hey!” he yells and Tony raises his arms guiltily.

“This isn’t what it looks like.” he starts to say.

“Excuse you Mr. Stark, but you told me it’s usually always what it looks like.” Peter retorts, arms crossed.

Tony grins, lowering his hands. “Alright, alright. No need to get all up in arms about it. Come ‘ere, I’m working on something you’ll find pretty neat.”

Tony waves him over to something vaguely glowing on his work table and Peter’s itching to go check it out before he snaps himself out of it. “You can’t distract me this time Mr. Stark, we gotta _go_.” 

“Come on Pete, I know you want to look.” Tony wags his brows and Peter bites his lip, looking back at the specimen before shaking his head.

“I’ll call Fury.” he threatens and Tony narrows his eyes.

“You wouldn’t.”

Peter pulls out his phone, pressing the number three on his speed-dial. The phone rings twice as Tony and Peter have a stare down before Fury picks up, “Parker? What did Tony do now?” he sighs.

Peter practically chirps, “Well Captain Fury sir-” before Tony stomps over and forcibly hangs up the call.

“Has anyone ever called you a brat before? Because, you’re a brat.” 

Peter beams, “Aw man, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Tony scowls.

“You know that I’m a genius right? The kind of genius who could be doing something actually useful instead of going to another meeting?” 

The community centre Tony goes to his AA meetings in is only an eight minute walk away and it’s a lovely day to be out and about. “It’s only an hour of your life Mr. Stark. I think you’ll live.” Tony sighs dramatically, “ _Plus_ ,” Peter adds, “it’s good for you. And you still have to find a sponsor.”

“Oh _God_.” 

Tony can complain all he wants, but they end up at the meeting anyway. 

They sit in their usual spot in the back and Peter doesn’t really have to be here- he knows- and maybe some people would say he shouldn’t. But…it had been a bit more than a month since he’d been living with Tony and at the end of the day…well…there isn’t exactly anyone else. 

And Peter refuses to lose someone else. Not again. 

Not if he can help it. 

He just wants to support him. Help him help himself. And if walking him to his meetings to make sure he goes does that, then, Peter won’t complain. What he _will_ complain about though, is Tony falling asleep just as Chloe is bursting into tears about her journey. “Mr. Stark.” he hisses, jabbing his elbow pointedly into his side.

Tony jolts up, eyes wide open. “I’m awake!” he yells as the whole crowd turns to them.

Peter sinks into his seat, trying to hide his face. From the corner of his eye, he sees a man with a streak of grey in his hair and a goatee almost as meticulous as Tony’s give him a wry look. 

The meeting wraps up and Tony still hasn’t participated at all, but at least he stayed awake- it’s the small victories. Peter figures he has to take what little successes come his way.

“I’m heading out to see Ned and MJ for a bit. I should be back in a couple hours.” he says as they walk out. 

“Do I need to give you the don’t do drugs speech?” Tony drawls.

Peter rolls his eyes. “ _No_.” 

Tony pops a smile. “I’m kidding. Go have fun. But not too much fun! Moderation is the key!” he yells as Peter turns tail and jets off.

Peter twists at the corner, waving with a very alright-that’s-enough expression before he disappears out of sight. Tony hides his smile, stuffs his hands in his pockets and turns away.

 

 

“So wait…you’re like a detective??” Ned exclaims, pulling out a cheesy slice from their shared pizza.

Peter tilts his head back and forth, pulling his lip like he’s thinking, “Yeah, basically.”

“Cool!” 

“And no one cares you’re sixteen?” MJ questions.

Peter shrugs, “Mr. Stark worked out some kinda deal with Captain Fury and technically, we’re not getting paid for any of this and they’re technically hiring Mr. Stark and I’m just his assistant so.” he shrugs again. 

“How can he not be getting paid, you guys live in a house in the middle of the city.” Ned exclaims.

“Mr. Stark’s dad owns the house. Apparently he’s this super rich guy who runs one of those mega-conglomerates. Mr. Stark gets his money from these investment things he made when he was younger? I don’t know.” 

“Remind us again how you met this guy?” MJ interjects, still looking unimpressed.

“I told you guys, when we were figuring out the angel of death thing.” 

“Your life is so crazy man.” Ned shakes his head, “Have you solved any cases?”

“Well, I don’t do all the solving. But I helped Mr. Stark solve four so far. The angel, the therapist, the kidnapping case, and then this whole thing with a bomb that exploded a decade after it was supposed to. It was crazy.” Peter narrates, gesticulating excitedly.

“And you’re happy?” MJ presses, scrutinizing him.

Peter blinks, calms down a little. “Yeah.” he says, “I think so- I mean- as much as I can be anyway.” 

Ned and MJ give him that usual expression people had when they loved you and felt sad that you were sad but didn’t quite know what to do. But Peter didn’t need them to do anything. It was enough just that they were here now. And it’s just nice and fun and he’s having a really great time when his phone pings. 

Peter slides open the message: _YT? ND U ASAP?_

MJ raises a brow. “I know we’re teenagers but…are you texting a teenager from an anti-millennial propaganda ad??”

Peter snorts, shooting her a goofy grin as he texts Tony back. _Still at pizza place, is it a case?_

“Nah, he’s just super intense about efficiency.” 

Right on time, his phone dings again, this time with a weirder message. _IMLTHO: No. IMPORTANT! CUS!!_

MJ gapes. “No way. Alright CUS is see you soon but what the _hell_ is IMLTHO?” 

Peter looks almost sheepish when he says, “It uhh, it means in my less than humble opinion.” 

MJ and Ned stare. 

Peter can’t really blame them.

 

 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter greets, “your abbreviations are getting super crazy you know.” 

Tony’s sitting at the computer, not even looking up when Peter enters. “Do you even understand how amazing it is that language is evolving faster than we can keep up with it? There’s only one thing I love more than text short hand and that’s coffee.” He raises his mug to prove it, taking a big swig of it.

He closes his Chrome tab and shoots up, clapping his hands, “You excited to meet some actual demons here on Earth?” 

“Oh my god are we going ghost hunting??” Peter squeaks, practically rocking on the balls of his feet.

Tony looks mortified. “Tell me you don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Tell me how you can _not_ believe in ghosts.” Peter retorts.

“Okay, we’ll get into all that later, but no. We’re going to an investment firm. Specifically, I’ve been requested to come in for a mysterious meeting with the Board of Directors.”

Peter twists his lip. “That’s weird. What do they want with you?”

“That’s exactly what I want to find out.” 

They’re half way out the door when Peter stops. “Wait…shouldn’t we uhh, get dressed or something?”

Tony glances down at himself then back at Peter, “Is this an Emperor’s new clothes situation?”

“We look like homeless people.” Peter deadpans. 

Tony carries on. “Peter, you and I both know that my suit collection is probably one of world’s seven wonders. But when _Wall Street_ wears them, it’s blasphemy. They’re all just wearing costumes.” his face upturns in scorn, “I hate bankers. They ruin lives and rig the wheel and almost destroyed the entire world economy, yet they still think that if they wear a suit they’ll be treated like respected members of society instead of the criminals they actually are.” 

Peter stares and then pulls out his phone. “Can you say all of that again for MJ?” 

 

 

The inside of the firm’s conference room is just as fancy as Peter imagined it would be. There’s a giant rectangular table in the centre with plush chairs all around it and a drop down projector screen at the front. Tony and Peter are seated at the far end of the table while a woman stands next to the screen and introduces them to all the relevant members. “My name’s Ray Pakara and I’m the Chief Investment Officer.” 

“That’s Daniel Cho, our CFO, and that’s Maria-”

Tony waves his hand around, “Yeah, we get it. You’re all the chief of something, how about you just get to the good stuff and tell me what you want yeah?” 

Pakara balks for a second before gesturing half-heartedly to the screen. An image of another man appears. “This is our COO, Richard Talbott. Every quarter, he fields a conference call with our institutional investors. These people control huge pension funds and as far as they’re concerned, Richard is the voice of the company. This quarter’s call was supposed to happen yesterday, but we had to reschedule because Richard never showed. Nobody has any idea where he is and if we don’t this call happening soon, people will start to whisper.” her expression turns grave, “And when these people whisper Mr. Stark, millions of dollars disappear.” 

Tony remains unimpressed yet managed to look disgusted at the same time. 

Daniel Cho speaks up, “We tried contacting the police already but they said they couldn’t do anything until he’s been missing for forty-eight hours. The man we spoke to, Captain Fury, said that we should try you.” 

Tony raises a brow. 

“We’d like to hire you and your uhh,” he looks at Peter, “…associate.” 

Tony interlaces his hands atop of his lap and has that face Peter knows only means trouble. “Today’s your lucky day kids. Turns out I’m free at the moment.” he stands, “Of course, my usual consulting rates will apply, but of course, they’ll be multiplied by a factor of, oh, let’s say twelve?” 

The board titters among themselves as they look at him incredulously. Peter almost wants to warn them as Tony’s grin grows salacious. “You’re wondering how much bang you’re gonna get for your buck right? Don’t worry. Demonstrations are free.” 

He purses his lips, scrutinizing them as though trying to select which prey to dig into first. “Ok first up, you two, you’ve been sleeping with each other for a while now, congrats. You sir, have recently removed nail polish from your hands, and _you_ -”

“Twelve times your rate is fine Mr. Stark.” Pakara says sternly.

Tony grins, “If you’re sure.” he moves towards the door, “Alright, I’m gonna need access to Talbott’s office and computer.” 

Pakara nods, “My secretary, Krystlle, will be happy to take you down there right now.” 

Krystlle Muguet is the tallest tiny girl Peter’s ever seen. She’s lithe and stands one arm crossed over her torso like she’s shielding herself from his stare. Her hair just brushes over her shoulders and though her expression bares no hints as to her feelings, her eyes are guarded. She couldn’t be older than twenty-eight but she carries herself like she’s lived beyond her years. “Right this way.” she says, and her voice is deep, but gentle. 

Talbott’s office looks like every other big company important person’s office Peter’s ever seen on TV. Large mahogany desk with a giant shelving unit decorated with sparse expensive knick-knacks and some thick leather bound books. The view from the window of course, is incredible. Peter trails the shelves, picking up a photo frame of Talbott and a pleasant looking woman smiling. “Is that Mr. Talbott’s wife?” he asks.

Krystlle nods. “They’re kinda like our gossip couple. Everyone called them Brangelina as a joke.” 

Tony hides a snort. “Fascinating.” 

Krystlle pulls her lip in a tight smile. “If you don’t need me for anything, I’ll be at my desk outside.”

Peter smiles her off but she leaves without reciprocating. “She’s a little cold don’t you think?” Peter asks, watching her go.

Tony shrugs, “You try being a woman in a man’s world. You either get tough or get trampled.” 

Peter frowns but goes back to examining the shelves. “Well, at least you’re having a good time.” he grins, “I think that’s the most excited I’ve ever seen you.” he teases.

Tony sighs, “Honestly, it was kinda a let down. I should’ve gone for twenty times my normal rate.”

“What _is_ your normal rate anyway?” 

Tony turns and grins like a classic Disney villain. “No clue.” 

“Mr. Stark!” he cries but can’t stop laughing. 

Tony claps his hands, “Alright padawan, let’s see if you remember our observation training. What can you tell me about the bookshelf?”

Peter pauses. “Well, he’s obviously trying to present himself as well-read. He has all these fancy books but none of them have been opened.” 

Tony nods, “Typical of people who are full of themselves, yeah. But how do you know they haven’t been read?”

“Because none of the spines are cracked. Except this one.” Peter pulls out a thick blue leather book traced in gold. 

“Correctamundo.” Tony praises, taking the book from Peter’s outstretched hand and flipping through it. “The spine is worn as are the page edge suggesting he’s opened this book quite a lot over time.” 

When he opens it to the middle he makes a face. “Well now we know why.” 

Carved into the pages is a nook for a little black book. Tony pulls it out gingerly, an oddly judgemental expression on his face. “What’s that?” Peter asks.

“A menu.” 

He hesitates before showing Peter but resolves to in the end, flipping through the book to show pictures of scantily clad women in provocative poses. “See the gold rings on the bottom? Those tell you the price. The more rings, the more you gotta shell out.” 

The further they flipped, the more obvious it was that Mr. Talbott had expensive taste. The pages ear-marked were all ones with four or five rings. “Okay, so our missing person had a nasty expensive habit. But you can’t just tell IRS you spend hundreds of thousands a year on prostitutes…you have to hide them.” Tony muses, mostly to himself, “Pete, find his calendar.” 

Peter jumps to attention, rifling through Talbott’s desk until he finds the calendar book, inside it, a little contact book. “His accountants’ info?” Tony asks.

“He has two. One is DDB-”

“No, that’s a big firm, probably does all his official books, not that one.” Tony interrupts.

“Uhh, well the other one’s just a name, no company. Martin Rydell. It says he handles the ‘executive private account.’” 

Tony snaps his fingers. “Bingo.” He turns to the door, “Krystlle?”

The secretary pokes her head in. “Would you mind booking us a reservation for three at Villa Pacri?” 

Later, Peter finds himself stumbling over his feet entering probably the most up-scale restaurant he’s ever been to. The ceilings rise above him with paintings running all up the sides and giant gold chandeliers twinkling. Everyone looks like their outfits cost more than a year’s rent and there he and Tony were in rumpled jeans and t-shirts. Needless to say, their waiter wasn’t pleased at all. 

Tony though, looks right at home. “Hello George, it’s just George right? No fancy French twist?” 

George gives him a tense smile. 

“Alright we’ll get the Seafood Platter and I want it stacked with all the expensive stuff. Add on some extra caviar for good measure.” he looks up, “Hey Pete, you like seafood right?” 

Peter shrinks in his seat, caught off guard. “Ok it’s fine. Fresh seafood is basically perfect you’ll be fine. But just in case, get me an eleven ounce striploin medium cooked and two sides of the mashed potatoes and your most expensive entrée just for kicks.”

Peter swears he sees George’s eyebrow tic. “Would you like a glass of wine with that sir?” 

“Depends. Will you buy me a new house if you give me one?” 

Peter’s head drops into his hands.

“Mr. Stark!!” he whisper hisses when George leaves, “You just spent like, a million dollars!!” 

“Normally, I’d have the exact calculation to prove you wrong, but this is on the firm’s dime so,” his hands flop in the air, “who cares?” 

Peter gives him a look but he’s trying extra hard not to grin. “So you hate Ernest and Co. but you have no problem spending their money?”

“I’m redistributing money stolen from the pockets of people just trying to make a living wage. If I have to work for a bunch of soul-less demon monsters, I might as well make them as poor as possible.” Tony takes a big bite of the bread, “Kid, I’m seriously debating giving you the card so you can learn to have a little fun in your life.” 

“I know how to have fun!” he retorts, crossing his arms like he was five.

Tony grins. “Prove it then. Next time Georgie comes, order something ridiculous.” 

Except, before George returns, a different waiter comes by, an older man with an expensive bottle of champagne. He holds it out to Tony. “Sir?”

“Mr. Stark!” 

“Kid, relax. It’s not for me.” he points casually to the table behind them, “See that couple there? Look at his suit, it’s frayed from the dry cleaning and I bet it’s the only one he has. What does that mean?” he looks at Peter expectantly.

“That he uhh…that he was waiting for something special?” he guesses.

“Bingo. Now look closer, he keeps touching the inside pocket of his coat as if he’s checking to see if something’s still there.”

Peter perks up, “He’s gonna propose!”

Tony smacks his hand lightly against the table, “And _we_ are going to send them a congratulatory bottle.” he turns to the waiter, “It’s perfect.” 

George returns to their table with a cart full of the food they ordered and Tony’s staring at Peter intently, gesturing his head almost psychotically towards him. Peter frowns, then glares then sighs, “Excuse me, Mr. George sir? Can I have a-”

He’s interrupted by a man in an expensive suit and slicked back hair sliding into the empty third seat. “Sorry I’m late Mr. Stark, shall we begin?”

Tony catches his glare for ruining what would no doubt be an awkward interaction between Peter and the waiter before smiling graciously. “No worries. Thanks George, we’ll call if we need anything.” 

He turns to give the man his full attention. “Mr. Rydell, let me introduce you to my protégé, Peter Parker. Before we start, I have a bit of a confession to make. We lied over the phone,” he gesticulates nonchalantly as he talks, “nothing too dramatic or anything. But, I don’t work at Ernest and Co. and I definitely don’t want to open an executive account with you.” 

Rydell’s face darkens and he stands to leave before Tony’s arm shoots out and grabs hold of his wrist. He lowers his voice and there’s an edge in his eyes. “What I _do_ want to talk about though, is your work hiding Talbott’s thing for expensive hookers.” 

Rydell swallows. “You have the wrong guy.” 

Tony shrugs, letting him go. “It’s not super legal what you’re doing right? This whole,” he waves his hand, “executive accounting business thing. But despite that, you were a pretty happy bunny coming all the way down here to meet me. What do you think that means kid?”

“That he has other sketchy clients.” 

“Correct. So you can totally go on your merry way right now, but that’ll just leave me and my phone and all the magazines who’d just _love_ to publish a story about the man who hides Wall Street’s dirty secrets.” 

Rydell glares down at him but doesn’t move. Tony tilts his head like a challenge and then pulls out his phone, typing quickly. “Hello, is this the Post? I have the best-”

“Wait!” Rydell exclaims and Tony holds the phone away from his ear.

“Can you hold on a sec, I’m on a call.” 

“Wait.” Rydell says again, sitting down, “I did work with Talbott.” 

Tony cancels the call.

“I set up a shell corporation to put away a bit of his paycheck every month into another fund so he could do whatever he wanted with it.”

“And if he were using those funds to hook up behind his wife’s back, where would we find him?” Tony presses.

Rydell bows his head. “I rented an apartment in Tribeca under the shell corp’s name.” 

Peter pulls out his phone. “Address please?” 

Behind them, the man gets down on his knees and the woman jumps to kiss him, “Yes! Of course! Yes!” 

Peter catches Tony eye, and smiles. 

 

 

Peter and Tony are walking to the apartment when Peter bumps his shoulder. “Have you found a sponsor yet?”

Tony sighs. “I’m working on it kid.”

“Okayyyyy,” Peter drags, “but are you working on it working on it, or are you just,” he twists his hand around his head, “working on it.” 

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re trying to solve a murder. It’s not exactly high on my list of priorities.” 

“Okay _yeah_ but you heard what the Captain said-”

“Peter, we’ll talk about this later. We’re here.” Tony says firmly. 

They stop in front of a nicely maintained building with a buzzer on the outside. Tony takes a breath then using the best Boston accent Peter’s ever heard, gets them in. “Hi this is Detective Horowitz of the NYPD, we got a warrant to search apartment 2G.” 

“What warrant??” Peter whispers.

Tony waves him off, “They never check.” 

The buzzer goes green and Tony winks. 

“Holy shit this place is incredible.” Peter gushes, admiring the giant art on the walls and tall ceilings. 

Tony nods at him, walking slower as he catches sight of a man sprawled on the couch, facing away from them. Tony clears his throat. “Mr. Talbott? Your bosses are looking for you.” 

The man doesn’t answer. 

Tony raises an arm, blocking Peter from following after him as he circles around the couch. He marches confidently until he freezes. His jaw clenches and there’s just the slightest staccato in his breath. 

Peter runs behind him and stops, his stomach twisting inside of him. 

Talbott is dead. His fingers still holding the needle plunged in his arm. White powder is scattered on the side table next to him and the entire room reeks of the alcohol spilt around him. Peter looks up at Tony, then back at Talbott. 

In two distinct yet utterly identical ways, this is both their biggest fear. 

 

 

The police arrive twenty-odd minutes later and Peter’s answering Thor’s questions when he sees Fury pull Tony aside. “Stark, you doing okay?”

Tony nods, but his twitchy quality is back. “Why are you asking me how I’m doing when there’s a dead man sitting in that armchair.” 

“You and I both know that the even in support meetings you’re not even allowed to _name_ the drug you’ve abused, let alone this mess and all the bottles everywhere. Even just saying the name of this stuff can be enough for a relapse.”

Tony smiles but there’s no warmth, “Aww come on Captain, you know I never pay attention to those things.” 

“Yeah?” Fury’s face hardens, “Getting you to care about yourself has always been a lost cause,” Tony winces, “but I thought you’d give more of a shit about the kid.” 

Tony’s face slackens and he turns around to catch Peter staring at him with eyes bordering somewhere between worried and frightened. Tony sighs, walking over to him. “You okay? This is probably not typical sixteen year old stuff.”

Peter swallows. “I’m okay. I’m a detective. I can do it.” 

Tony smiles, his hand resting briefly atop of Peter’s head. “But…what about you? This is…this is bad right? Do you want to go outside for a little? We’ve been here for so long…”

Tony pulls his hand back. “I’m fine. We have a case to work. That’s all that matters.” 

“But Mr. Stark! The case is over. We found Talbott, we don’t have to-”

Tony shakes his head, that antsy energy roaring back as his hand trembles and his voice sounds like it’s all over the place. “No, no, look- look at the salad.” he points to the kitchen.

“Fury!” he yells, “you’re trying to drop this as an unintentional suicide right?” he doesn’t even wait for Fury to agree, “Well you’re wrong! In case you were wondering! Talbott was murdered.” 

Steve frowns, but it’s gentle. “Tony…the murder weapon is right in his hand.” 

Tony whirls around, “That’s right, the murder weapon is in his hand but he didn’t shoot himself up, just- just look at his arm. No track marks.”

Steve nods, “Okay, but he’s a junkie, they can find a vein anywhere.” 

Tony shakes his head, something wild in his eyes. “Steve could you just- just look at this apartment. Does this look even remotely like the home of a hardcore heroin addict? Or even an alcoholic? It’s- it’s perfect! Spotless! I bet you even the food in his fridge is perfectly arranged.”

To prove his point, Tony races to the kitchen, pulling open the fridge to find piles of containers perfectly placed in a grid. “See! Does this look like your typical drug user’s fridge?”

Thor shrugs, “So he’s not typical.”

Tony’s energy quiets. “Addicts are looking for nothingness. They want to dull all their senses. That’s why when you find them overdosed, they’re in squalid apartments or alleyways. They don’t keep apartments like this. And they definitely aren’t COOs of multi-billion dollar companies.”

Steve stares calmly. “So you’re saying someone gave Talbott the shot? How? There’s no sign of a struggle or a break in anywhere.” 

Thor nods, “No normal person is going to let someone just stick a needle in their arm.” 

Tony’s face darkens. “No, you’re right. That’s why they had to make him unconscious first.” He stalks over to the salad container and stares.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, voice small.

He doesn’t turn to look at him. “Peter, we haven’t covered drugs yet so I’ll let you pass on this one. But if someone needed Talbott unconscious before overdosing him, and if any other chemical would come up in a tox screen, then he’d have to have dosed him with more heroine through this.” Tony nods, picking up steam, “And then…after Talbott knocked out, the killer dragged him to the chair where he gave him that final dose and then arranged everything for us to find and left.” 

“So.” Fury says, “You think someone dosed the salad.”

“Well it’s easy enough to test isn’t it?” 

Fury stares him down, “Fine. But first, we have to go notify the wife.”

“We’re coming.” Tony says immediately, “This guy has a secret apartment to hook up with prostitutes? That’s a motive if I’ve ever heard one.” 

In the back of the squad car, Peter glances up at Tony from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t participated much in the apartment breakdown of the murder and even now, he’s too uncertain to reach out to his guardian about…well…about everything. But Tony’s jaw is still clenched and his shoulders tight, so Peter looks down into his lap and doesn’t say anything at all.

 

 

The wife as it happens, is just as beautiful as she is in the photos in the office. Fury and Steve are across from Jane Talbott in the conference room while Tony and Peter are relegated to the back. To her credit, she looks genuinely shocked. At both the death and the method. 

“Oh my God. Richard said he was done with all that…the girls…the partying…he said he was ready for us to have kids and you say he…” she takes a deep breath, “you say he was using heroin?” 

Tony takes a sharp breath and Peter reaches out to touch his shoulder but Tony ignores him. “Mrs. Talbott. Sorry to interrupt, but would you mind telling us where you were between six and midnight?” 

Jane recoils in her seat. “What?” 

Tony keeps going. “That’s our estimated time of death for now and I was wondering where you were.”

“No-” Steve interjects before Jane turns on him.

“You think I hurt my husband?” she sounds aghast.

Steve levels his hand, “No. No. Everything we’ve seen so far indicates an accidental death.” 

“Yeah, that’s not for sure at all, so whereabouts?” Tony chimes in.

Steve looks at him for a second, caught between wanting to tell him off but wanting to know, when Jane purses her lips to compose herself and then untenses. “I volunteer at Habitat for Humanity. I was running the silent auction.” 

“And up until today, you had no idea your husband was using heroin?” Tony asks.

“I told you, no. I’m shocked.” she pauses, looks down into her lap as tears pool at the corner of her eyes. “But I wish I could say I’m totally surprised.” 

Steve softens, “What do you mean by that ma’am?”

“Ever since he got promoted to COO, Richard’s been getting so overwhelmed. He used to joke that the last guy dropped dead just to get out of going to work.”

Tony’s head shoots up. “Wait, wait, scale back a sec. Did you just say the last COO died?”

Jane sniffs, “He-he was allergic to peanuts and he died when some restaurant put the wrong oil in his lunch.”

“How long ago was that?” Tony asks, ignoring Steve’s confused look. 

“Um, last October?” Jane wrings her hands, “Why? Do you think this has to do with Richard?” 

Tony doesn’t answer. 

When Jane is shown out minutes later, Steve returns with a flat expression. “Peanut allergies? Seriously Tony?”

“Steve, come on. You don’t think it’s weird how the same company lost _two_ COO’s in the same year? Being an investment demon is supposed to be dangerous morally. But not like this.” 

“I think Mr. Stark’s right.” Peter chimes in, his heart beating in his throat. 

He’s never really spoken up like this around the precinct, usually he’d only build on Tony’s points or take the lead when they were out in the field. But he didn’t like the way Steve and Fury were looking at him and he knew Tony, better than either of them, and he knew Tony believed there was something bigger afoot. And honestly, Peter believed it. 

He’s learned now that coincidences are just secrets waiting to be revealed. 

Fury looks at him, brow raised. “Really now?”

“We can check it out ourselves. No harm no foul right?” Peter raises his chin.

Fury shakes his head, “Fine. Now get outta here. We have real work to do.” 

 

 

Peter’s busy cooking pasta when he hears Tony on the phone. He’s speaking quickly, in a language he doesn’t know. But the inflection and the enunciation sounds like the Mandarin Peter hears sometimes when Tony rushes through world news to get the gist. He scoops out two bowls of pasta and sets them down on the table Tony’s working at.

“How many languages do you speak? Because that was definitely not English.” 

“It was Mandarin. And I’m only partly fluent, I need to practice more. But I _am_ fluent in five other languages.”

Peter whistles. “Holy shit.” 

“Watch that mouth kid.” Tony berates, taking a bite. “Huh, not bad. Is this your aunt’s recipe?” 

Peter smiles, nostalgic. “Yeah, it’s good right!”

“Definitely.” Tony looks at him, “Wanna talk shop?”

Peter nods and Tony dives right in. “So I was talking to the chef who made that old COO’s meal, a guy named Gary Norris. Anyway, this guy had a really bad peanut allergy and he was apparently crazy about avoiding them. Enter Chef Zhang. Norris had made an arrangement with him, Zhang knew to never put peanut oil in his meals and because of the arrangement, Norris had lunch there every day.”

Peter twists his lip, “Yeah, I get all that. But it only takes one mistake right?”

“That’s the thing, Zhang swears he never messed up. He said he always made Norris’ meals personally and he believes that someone else put the peanut oil in the food _after_ it left his kitchen.” Tony twists his fork into the pasta, “I’m starting to think he’s right.” 

Peter blows out a breath, “Well it’s not exactly a dumb plan. It’s pretty smart honestly.” He nods to himself, “Plus, if he was murdered, the MO is pretty consistent. Kill the target in a way that looks like an accident.” 

“Exactly.” But Tony seems moderately distracted and he keeps looking at Peter like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

Peter swallows. Yeah, he knows the feeling. What he wants to say right now is that he wants to be there for Tony and that he cares about him and that Peter wants to support him. But…he just…doesn’t know how. 

“Today, at the crime scene. I was caught off guard for a bit. I…I forgot what it all smelt like. And about the oblivion.”

Peter goes deathly quiet. “But I’m fine now. Everything’s fine.” 

“Mr. Stark-” 

Tony gets up. “I’m going to head down to the workshop. If the captain calls, let me know.” 

Peter nods. 

“Dammit.” he whispers as soon as Tony closes the basement door. 

 

 

Peter’s in bed, tossing and turning when he hears rummaging downstairs. Curious, he peeks out from behind the bannister to see Tony pinning up photos above their mantle where their crime collages go. “Who are they?” Peter calls and Tony waves him over.

“They’re everyone from Ernest and Co. who’ve died over the last ten years.”

Peter stifles a yawn. “Well it’s a big company right? Deaths are bound to happen.”

Tony nods. “A lot of these are probably random. That’s guaranteed. But if we ignore those, there might be a pattern.”

Peter helps pin up the rest of the pictures when Tony’s phone dings. “Yes!” he exclaims.

Peter tilts his head. 

“The results came in. I was right. Someone put heroin in Talbott’s salad.” 

Peter’s face darkens. “So there really is something wrong with that company.”

“Seems like it.” Tony squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “Get some rest kid. I’ll try to be quieter. We have a big day tomorrow.” At Peter’s confused face he elaborates, “We’re going to call a Board of Directors meeting.”

“But…they canceled our contract.”

“I think they’re going to want to know one of them's a murderer.”

 

 

As Peter predicted, the Board isn’t happy to see them at all. They sit in their designated chairs with grumpy expressions, half of them checking their watches every five seconds while the other half mutters amongst themselves about wasting time. 

Tony loves it.

“If I could have your attention for just a second so I could expose some corruption that’d be great.” At the C word, the entire horde silences.

Tony clicks a button and the projector turns on, a picture of a man on the screen. “This is Miles Durham, he was the former head trader in your Denver office. He died camping.” The picture switched to a woman, “This is Bushra Mistry, she ran your equities division in Dallas and suffocated when the natural gas line running into her house ruptured when there’d never been a problem with that brand of piping before or since.”

“Is there a point to this Mr. Stark?” Ray Pakara asks, “We’re busy people.” 

“ _Yes_ there’s a point.” he switches the phots again, “Jason Palmer, worked right here in the city. He got a five million dollar bonus in two-thousand and nine and then drowned while swimming in a lake near his home.” Tony pauses, “The weird thing, is that Jason used to be a lifeguard.” 

Pakara sighs. “Respectfully Mr. Stark. You did what we hired you to do. You found Richard. He OD’d.”

“Actually, he was murdered. The police are investigating it now and we also believe that whoever killed Richard killed your previous COO, Gary Norris, as well as everyone I just mentioned here.” 

The Board falls silent. Even Pakara looks subdued at the thought. 

“I can’t find a plausible motive that makes any sense for anyone outside of this company. This isn’t about passion or spurts of anger. These murders are well-planned and well concealed. They’re crimes of opportunity.” Tony’s gaze is piercing, “I think you have a sociopath in your rank and file. If I’m right, they wait and hide until they find the right opportunity to give themselves a leg up and then pounce.” 

One of the Directors speaks up. “You’re saying someone’s killing their way up the ladder? That’s crazy.” 

“Is it though?” Tony asks. “You find ripping off poor people so they starve in their houses they can’t rent anymore morally acceptable but not that?” he makes a face before continuing, “To find out who’s responsible, I’m going to need access to your records. If the murderer is here, I’ll find them.” 

Pakara stands, “We control billions of dollars worth of assets Mr. Stark, we can’t give you those files. They’re confidential.” she says firmly. 

Tony rolls his eyes, “Can everyone just relax. It’s not like I’m trying to audit you. I just need to do some simple math. There can’t be that many people who were in Denver in two-thousand and three, Dallas in oh-five, and New York in oh-nine. If I can find whoever that is fast, I can wrap the whole thing up and it won’t end up blowing up in your face in a giant scandal.” 

Pakara’s expression hardens. “Enough. Your services aren’t necessary anymore Mr. Stark.” 

Tony looks incredulous. “Did you hear me when I said you have a _murderer_ here?”

“There isn’t a killer.” Pakara says firmly. “You know how I know that? Because the only person with that career path that you’re describing here is me. And I can tell you right now that I didn’t murder anybody.” 

 

 

“We’re just going to go??” Peter demands as Tony hails a taxi.

“Ray Pakara refuses to confess and we technically have no proof.” 

“But she’s the only one who was at all the murder scenes at the right times.”

Tony frowns. “Yeah. The question is how do we prove a link.” 

The two have only just gotten home when the doorbell rings and Ray Pakara bursts through the doors. “I brought your cheque. And also, we need to talk.” 

Tony looks after her as she walks through their home. “Do we? Unless you’re here to confess to the murders I don’t see how you can be helpful.”

Pakara glares at him. “Do you have any idea what you did to me today?” The silence is heavy, “Do you know what it takes just to _survive_ at a place like Ernest and Co. not just as a Board member but as a woman?” Pakara takes a step closer, “I never murdered anyone.” 

The two stare at each other before Pakara sighs, sitting down on the arm chair. “Have I done some questionable things to get to where I am? Yeah. Sure. I was inches away from becoming COO, which everybody knows is where they groom you for the big chair. But then,” her eyes flash, “you accuse me of murder. And now?” her fingers tighten over the cushion arms, “Gossip is poison in that place. It doesn’t matter that I’m completely innocent. Now I’ll never get that job.”

Tony pretends to wake up, jerking his head around. “Sorry, do you have anything interesting to say? Every time you say you’re innocent I tune out.”

“Alright fine. I’ll prove it. Miles Durham, the first of the so-called murders? I had surgery.” Pakara pulls out a file from her purse sliding it over, “Those are my medical record. He was dead between the seventh and ninth of August. Well I had surgery the sixth and I wasn’t released until the twelfth.” she cocks her head, “See? Innocent.” 

Tony stares at her. Pakara smiles but it’s ice cold. “You think there’s a sociopath amongst us?” she leans forward, eyes flashing, “I’ll let you in on a secret. We’re all sociopaths.” 

When Pakara leaves, Tony’s fuming. He dumps the medical files on the floor and grabs a basketball smashing it up and down atop the files, glaring. “It doesn’t make any sense!” he yells.

Peter pokes his head around the kitchen wall. 

“Ray Pakara couldn’t have done it, but she’s the only one who benefited. She rose up the ranks every time someone died and yet she couldn’t have done it.” The ball smashes into the files.

Tony gets more revved up as he glowers into the pages and Peter feels something swell inside him. It’s not fear but…it’s something anxious. Something worried. Tony’s getting frantic, stuck at a wall. And after the emotional roller-coaster of being exposed to an overdose and an alcohol binge and having to deal with Fury and Steve shutting him down and now this, Peter’s worried. 

He texts Ned, asks him to meet up to get some advice and when Ned confirms he’s free Peter hesitates at the door. 

“You’re going to go meet your friends aren’t you?” Tony says, still pounding the ball. “Good idea. It’s not gonna get any quieter in here.” 

“You going to be okay?” Peter asks softly.

“Peachy.” 

But when Peter comes back home an hour later, Tony’s gone. 

 

 

Tony bashes the ball some more before he stops, picking up one page of the medical file. It’s Pakara’s release form where it shows her emergency contact. “Krystlle.” Tony whispers before sprinting right out the door.

Tony’s back in the firm’s office, right at the elevators when he catches sight of who he’s looking for. He presses the down button and waves. “Krystlle.” he greets. 

The woman startles, staring at him with wary eyes. “God, no one ever remembers the secretary do they Krystlle?”

“What?” she says, pulling her purse tighter against herself.

Tony rocks on the balls of his feet, “As a career choice,” he makes a screechy noise in the back of his throat, “kinda limiting. But the invisibility must be nice sometimes.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Krystlle retorts, “But I’m pretty sure Ms. Pakara had you banned from the building.”

Tony ignores her, “You’ve been with her a long time haven’t you? Until tonight, I just assumed she’d picked you up when she moved to New York. But then I saw your name on as the emergency contact for her surgery in Denver and it hit me, you’d followed her from there to Dallas to here.” 

Krystlle shrugs, “Yeah so? Ray’s a good boss. We’re loyal to each other.” 

“She’s definitely been something of a superstar around here. And she probably owes a lot of that to you doesn’t she Krystlle?” Tony has a knowing look, “Ray Pakara wasn’t the only one to benefit from all the deaths was she?” 

Krystlle glares, “Do I need to call security?”

Tony grins. “By all means, let’s bring them into the conversation.” Krystlle lowers her phone. “No? Didn’t think so.” The elevator doors open and Tony follows her inside. 

“Anyway, I’m pretty annoyed I didn’t see it sooner. Every time Pakara got promoted, you had something to gain. Pay raise, stock options, the company even contributes to your retirement plan now.”

“So? I’ve given them years of my life.” 

Tony has a wry expression. “I can’t even imagine the little thrills you got, changing the fate of a giant company from your little desk.” The doors open again into a dimly lit garage and Krystlle moves away.

“Get away from me.” she seethes. 

But Tony persists, following on after her. “Either way, what I still want to know is whether you and your boss were working together or not.” he waggles his brows, “First one to tattle gets the shorter sentence.” he sings. 

Krystlle stops in front of a large black car and stares him down. “I’ve seen executives like you come and go.” she sneers, “A little bit of smarts, a whole lot of ego.”

Tony flicks up his brows, “Trust me. You’ve never met anyone like me.”

Krystlle looks unimpressed. “Oh sure I have. My bosses use five thousand dollar suits to get attention. You use a blazer and a cat t-shirt.” she steps closer, looking at him like she can’t even believe her luck, “You’re so proud of yourself for what you think you discovered, you just couldn’t wait to tell me.” her voice drops, “Even if it meant following me into an empty parking garage.” 

She drops her hand into her purse and pulls out a taser. It crackles and a surge of light bursts. 

Tony topples to the ground before he can he even say a word. 

 

When he wakes up, he’s zip-tied and hand-cuffed in the back of Krystlle’s car and it’s pitch black out. Krystlle looks at him from the rear view mirror. “You’re awake. Good.” 

Tony grunts, pushing himself upwards, trying to wish the grogginess away. “Yeah, I’ve chased after my fair share of bad guys, but most of them are ridiculously boring. You though, you’re fascinating.” he grunts again, “The initiative, the patience. I don’t think it’s gonna work out for you though.” he shrugs, “You jumped the gun on this one.”

Krystlle raises a brow. “Oh yeah? Who did you tell about me? Or did you just rush off for the big finale?” 

“I emailed my colleagues-”

“No you didn’t.” she says in a tone that leaves no room for discussion. “We’re going to be at Ray’s country estate in a couple of minutes. In a week or two, someone’s going to call in an anonymous tip and the police are going to find your body buried on the property. And then everyone will know that you were right, and that Ray Pakara killed you before you could prove it.”

“You’re going to frame your boss.” Tony nods, “Yeah, makes sense. The promotion will go to Cho and I guess he’s going to need an experienced secretary to help him out. Enter you.” 

Krystlle quirks a lip up. “Huh. Maybe you’re a smart guy after all.” 

“Now that’s a real compliment coming from you.” Tony grins, his brain already whirring away in the background to figure a way out. 

“Ernest and Co. should make you the new managing director.” he muses.

Krystlle snorts. “Yeah, they don’t have enough imagination for that.” 

A phone rings in the front and Krystlle sighs harshly. “Peter.” Tony’s heart lurches. “That’s the kid who’s always with you right? This is the fourth time he’s called and I don’t even want to get into how many times he’s texted.” 

Tony’s lips curl up in a shadow of a smile. “He won’t stop you know. Kid’s high-strung. His aunt died a month ago and after I took him in, you can say he got a little over protective over the last guardian he has left in the world. I wouldn’t be surprised if he called the cops.” 

Krystlle frowns, then picks up the phone. “In that case, we should let him know you’re alright.” 

 

 

Back in the precinct, Peter is inconsolable. “Parker, why do you think Tony might have relapsed?” Fury asks. 

“Yesterday, at the crime scene, he said it didn’t effect him but I know it did. The drugs and the alcohol everywhere. And when I left, he was so mad at himself and I feel like…if he thought he wasn’t doing enough then maybe he…and it’s been hours and he always texts me back when I text because he knows I worry and I-”

Peter’s phone pings and he rushes to pull it out of his pocket. “It’s- it’s Tony.” his shoulders drop, “He says he’s fine. He’s heading back.”

Fury sighs. “Great.”

But Peter still has that look on his face. He stares harder at the texts and frowns. 

_Everything’s fine. Phone was off, my mistake. Heading back now, see you soon._

 

 

Tony crosses his arm and glares. “Are you serious right now? I won’t do it.” 

Krystlle raises the gun she’s pointing at him higher. 

“Nope. Absolutely not. I’m not digging my own grave. You’re the murderer, you do it.” 

“Have you ever been shot by a gun before?” Krystlle asks, voice inching higher in annoyance.

“No. But I’m pretty it’ll make it harder to dig!” Tony retorts. “Shoot me, yank my fingernails out, I don’t give a shit. The answer’s still no. I’m not digging the hole you’re going to bury me in and that’s that.” As he talks, he hopes it masks the quiet clicking of him picking the lock of his handcuffs.

He hopes Peter remembers to always keep a pick in his pocket. 

“Fine.” Krystlle growls, “I’ll do it myself. It’s not even supposed to be that deep anyway. I want them to find you.” 

She steps closer, pressing the gun to the back of his head. Tony feels his sweat dribble down his forehead. “Tell me something,” he says suddenly, as his fingers race to set his wrists free, “How did you get started with all of this? You must be proud of yourself. I for one know exactly how much effort it took to hide everything you did. But God it must kill you to keep it all a secret.” Tony shrugs slowly, “I’m about to die anyway, so it’s your chance to share. You might as well.” 

Krystlle is quiet. “So? What launched the career of Krystlle Muguet, corporate sociopath?” 

He hears her puff of amusement at the title. “Ray was a bonds salesman back in Denver, the company was downsizing. They were either going to cut her job-” sirens ring in the background, red and blue light casting shadows all over the trees. 

Krystlle takes a step back, her voice shaking. “What are they doing here!!”

“No clue.” Tony says, snapping his cuffs clean off. “Bought me some time though.” he remarks cheerfully. 

“Did you know I pick locks?” Krystlle swings at him with the gun but Tony catches her arm, and with his other, pulls out the taser from her jacket, “Pockets too.” The electricity shoots through her as she convulses on the ground. 

“Police! Hands in the air!” 

“Hey Fury, how’s it hanging?” Tony asks before Peter bursts from Fury’s side and tackles him in a hug. 

“Mr. Stark!” 

Tony’s arms hesitate in the air as Peter buries himself within the crease of Tony’s neck. “Are you okay??” he says, pulling away to look Tony up and down.

Peter’s eyes are frenzied but the more they look at Tony, the calmer they get. 

“Yeah, I’m ok. A little woozy. You know, from all the volts that went through me. But I’m fine. Don’t worry kid. Everything’s fine.” 

Steve walks by to pick Krystlle up, squeezing Tony on the shoulder. “Glad you’re alright.”

Tony nods at him, then turns back to Peter. “Pretty convenient you and the cavalry showing up when you did.”

“No such thing as coincidences.” Peter jokes, but it’s weak.

Tony’s lip quirks up. “It was the texts right? The ones Krystlle sent?”

Peter’s laugh is puffy and grateful, “Everything’s fine, phone was off, my mistake, see you soon. That’s it. No emoticons, emojis, or really weird acronyms. It didn’t sound like a baby boomer impression of a millennial so I knew it couldn’t be you.”

Tony smirks. “I manipulated her into writing it. I knew she’d never be able to copy my flair with language.” he looks down at Peter gently, “I also knew that if you knew it wasn’t me texting, you’d know I was in trouble. From there, it would be simple for the police to run a cellular interceptor on my phone, find the location-”

Peter balks. “Hey, are you seriously trying to take credit for me saving your life right now?”

“It was a group effort.” Peter glares, “Fine. Let’s say fifty-fifty.” Tony pinches his lips, “Maybe sixty-forty.” 

Peter makes a face, knocking him in the shoulder lightly. Tony smiles. “It doesn’t matter. You did good kid. You did really good.” 

 

 

By the time they get back home, the sun is rising above the horizon and Peter looks two seconds away from sleeping while standing. Tony locks the door behind them as they walk in, leading Peter up the stairs. The kid’s so sleepy his eyes are bleary and half closed but he finds the energy to sink into Tony’s hand that’s pressed against his back. “Hey Mr. Stark?” he mumbles, “I’m really glad we got there in time.”

“Yeah, me too Pete.” Tony murmurs.

“But…I know that I can’t ‘save’ you when it comes to your real problems. So please, I really want you to find someone you can talk to because I don’t…I don’t want to see you in an empty apartment. And I know me caring about you isn’t enough.” 

He doesn’t say what he means, but Tony knows what he’s saying anyway. “Go to bed Peter. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

Peter goes to sleep and Tony sits on the couch and thinks. 

Two and a half hours later, Tony heads out to an early morning meeting while Peter’s still asleep. He leaves a note on the dinner table along with a set of letters for Peter to analyze and compare while he awaits Tony’s return. There’s a bruise that’s still just as vibrant as ever on his forehead from where he fell on the concrete but Tony elects to ignore the strange looks as he takes a seat in the back. 

He’s not a hundred percent sure why he’s here. But he thinks about the expression on Peter’s face when he saw Tony emerge from the woods. The relief, the gratitude, the fear melting away before he ran at him. The alcohol…the alcohol would make him forget everything he did wrong and all the regrets he had but it would also mean putting that fear back in Peter’s heart. And while he’s always been committed to his sobriety if not for anything but his work, knowing that keeping Peter is contingent on it keeps him motivated. 

And he knows Peter wants to help him and be there for him. But that isn’t his job. He’s the child, not the guardian. And Tony can rely on him for a sense of joy and familial relationship, but not as a crutch for his journey to healing. He wouldn’t burden him with these problems. He refuses to. 

When the meeting ends, the man with the streak of grey in his hair greets him and points with his whole hand at his own forehead as though he couldn’t separate his fingers. “Looks like a bad hit to the head.” 

Tony makes a face, shrugs. “Went full frontal on the concrete. Not pretty.”

The man laughs a little. “You try arnica on that?”

Tony’s nose curls. “Isn’t that some kind of homeopathy nonsense?” 

“It _is_ homeopathy. But it works. As a former doctor, I feel confident in saying that.”

Tony tilts his head, “Former?”

The man raises his arms and Tony can see the dozens of lightening like scars all across his hands and down his wrists. At this close distance, he can see the slight tremble in his hands, the way his fingers can’t move without going all together. “You had an accident.” Tony says. “I’m sorry.”

The man shrugs, “Went full frontal with the windshield of my car.” His lip turns up and Tony lets out an amused breath. 

“I’m Stephen by the way. Stephen Strange.” 

“Tony Stark.” he pauses, “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a sponsee would you?” 

“Do I get the inside scoop on detective stories?” 

“Depends, how well do you handle murder?”

“Considering I teach medicine at NYU using cadavers, fairly well.” 

Tony grins. “Well Doctor, I think we’ll get along great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stephen's in the story! Next chapter introduces Bruce as our beloved coroner. 
> 
> As well as a very special surprise guest...from someone back in London...


	5. Crossing The Yellow Line

A woman walks down the steps into 96th street station and stands next to a pillar with a Caution: Avoid Ledge sign. She peers down the tunnel searching for the tell-tale lights of the subway train when someone taps her on the shoulder. She turns around to see a man holding a bouquet of a dozen red roses. 

“I’m sorry miss, I was wondering if you would want these flowers? I was on the way to my girlfriend’s but she had to cancel last minute and it would be a shame if they went to waste.”

The woman smiles, touching her lip in shyness. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, a pretty woman like you deserves a bouquet.” 

“Thank you so much.” She smiles, pressing the flowers against her face to smell them closely. 

He grins back, then walks the opposite way. The woman looks into the tunnel again to see the lights shining against the corner. She steps closer to the edge, shoes just toeing the yellow line. As the subway turns into the platform the man switches direction, walking right behind her. She feels his hands on her back and one sharp push. 

She screams as she falls into the tunnel. 

The man walks away. 

The rose petals splatter like droplets of blood. 

 

Peter’s face is scrunched in concentration as he taps at his face. “Uhhh, uuhhh, signs of arsenic poisoning are red or swollen skin and skin changes!” Peter nods, “Yeah!” 

Stephen purses his lip, leaning back in the arm chair. “You’re being purposefully vague Peter.” 

Peter frowns, shoulder sagging, “Am _not_. You know,” he waves his hand around, “skin changes.”

Stephen raises a brow.

“Like lesions! Boom!” 

“Good. Now, did you look over the photos I gave you about the difference in bruising?”

Peter nods profusely. “Yeah for sure. But I got a little stumped on trying to figure out the difference between getting hit by a blunt force object and then falling.” 

“Ok, bring the file here, let’s take a look.” 

Peter slides over the photos quietly, watching Stephen assess them with a quick calculus. “So for every hour you teach me, Tony has to spend two with you right?”

“That’s the deal.” he answers dryly, “It’s like pulling teeth though.”

Peter grins, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“He’s been particularly annoying recently though. No case yet?”

Peter sighs mournfully, “No, nothing Mr. Stark thought was interesting enough. I think Steve is getting kinda sick of us.” he jokes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

Stephen snorts, but looks fond as he delves into a discussion on the discrepancies in beating patterns, when Tony emerges from the basement looking disheveled. Stephen glares. “Have you slept at all yet?” 

“Excuse you. I got a whole two hours. So.” 

“ _Tony_.”

“ _Stephen_.” 

“Mr. Stark!” 

Tony twists his lip. Sighs. “Listen. It’s impossible to sleep when I just heard from daddy dear. Well not him obviously, a minion.” he wrinkles his nose like he smelt something incredibly bad.

“That’s great!” Peter says quickly, “What does he want?”

“He wants to have dinner in two days.” 

“And that’s offensive how exactly?” Stephen drawls.

“Listen, you both had functional parental figures. Take it from someone who knows him. He has zero intention of coming to dinner.” 

“Mr. Stark why would he make plans with you if he wasn’t gonna come? That’s crazy.”

Tony gives him a pointed look, “Yeah.” but his expression picks up a second later, “But! One good thing did come out of it.” 

Peter tilts his head.

“A case.” 

 

 

Peter and Tony are waiting in a giant office with a stunning view of the city when Tony finally fills him in. “We’re meeting one of my dad’s lawyers, apparently.” he sneers, “They have about as much integrity as any soul sucking leeches do, but hey.” he shrugs.

An elderly man in a crisp suit enters the room along with a pretty woman in a red skirt and suit jacket. “Mr. Stark.” the man greets, “Mr. Parker. Thank you so much for coming. We at the firm appreciate it.”

Peter looks surprised. “You know who I am?” 

The man smiles, “Of course. Mr. Stark senior is very curious about you indeed.” 

Peter turns awkward, gaze shifting to the floor as he scuffs it with his shoe. Tony on the other hand, rolls his eyes. “Yeah alright. Sure. So, why are we here and how hard am I going to have to swallow my gag reflexes to do it?”

He sounds nonchalant enough, but Peter doesn’t miss the tenseness in his shoulders, the quick flit of his eyes to Peter, the way he steps ever so slightly in front of him as though that could shield him from the world. 

If the man is offended, he doesn’t show it. “My name is Philip Armistead and this is my assistant Rebecca.” he points to the woman who entered with him. “Actually Mr. Stark, it won’t be me or your father’s businesses that you’ll be dealing with. I was actually hoping you could help Rebecca.” 

The woman twists her handbag strap between her hands, her eyes distraught. “It’s my sister, Callie. She’s been missing for six months. I think her husband might have done something to her.” 

Peter frowns, heart aching for her. Even Tony softens. “Let’s sit down and you can start from the top.” 

Rebecca nods shakily. “I think it’ll be better if I show you.” she pulls out a USB, inserting it into the laptop conveniently on the conference table and turns the screen to them.

It’s a woman in her early thirties, blonde hair, kind face, a distinct resemblance to Rebecca. She’s setting up the camera angle before taking a seat in what looks to be a beautiful condo. She smiles, but it’s sad. “I guess I should start with I’m sorry.” she says, “I hate that I can’t say these things to you face-to-face, it’s just…I don’t love you anymore Drew.” she sighs.

“And it hurts to say that, you don’t know how much. I care about you. I want you to be happy, but I need to be happy too. And I thought that I could tough it out and give us both a little more time…But then that woman got pushed in front of a subway train the other day, the woman with the flowers, and…I don’t know. Maybe it’s silly…but I can’t stop thinking about her.” 

Tony frowns, looks at Peter and he’s quick to pull out his phone and google the phrase, a dozen of articles pop up about a woman holding flowers being pushed to her death in a subway tunnel. 

Tony’s frown deepens. 

Callie looks right into the camera, expression soft, but firm, “Life is too short to stay with someone who doesn’t make you happy. So…I’m going to go away for a little while. I don’t know where and I don’t know for how long. I just know I need some time.”

A pause. “Maybe, someday, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.” 

The screen goes black. 

Tony turns to Rebecca, face grave. “When Drew first showed me the video, I didn’t question it.” 

She shrugs, something sad and longing in her eyes, “Callie’s always been a little fragile. A little flighty. She’d pack up her stuff and hide out all the time, so it didn’t seem out of character. But then…days turned into weeks and I got suspicious.”

“Did they always have problems?” Tony asks, finger at his beard.

“Callie had left him once before, it was around a year and a half ago, but I don’t know what happened.” Rebecca’s voice drops, something bitter, “She didn’t even tell me she’d done it until a few weeks later. By then, they were already back together.” 

Tony frowns. “I tried to get her to talk to me about it, but she kept saying it was all in the past. She was like that…very private. So when she didn’t return my calls after I saw the video, I wasn’t surprised. But then…”

Philip rests his hand on hers, “A few weeks after that, Rebecca went to the police. They tried to locate Callie using her cell phone, credit cards, emails, everything. But they turned up no leads.” he says. 

“She hadn’t used a single thing since before she disappeared.” Rebecca confirms. “Drew managed to convince them the video was authentic so when he got questioned, he got dropped as a suspect.”

Peter tilts his head. “You think it’s faked?” 

Rebecca stares at him evenly. “I know that things were bad between Drew and my sister. It would’ve been easy to force her to make the video so that after he…after he killed her, he could show it to the police to convince them she just ran away.” 

She could tell the two of them were still unconvinced and her voice picks up speed. “There’s also the trunk.” Tony raises a brow, and Rebecca slides over a photo of a stunning antique trunk, “It was our grandmother’s and my father willed it to me when he died. My apartment is tiny though, so I let Callie keep it at her place. The deal was, if I got the chance to move, she would give it to me. The first time I went to see Drew after she disappeared, I realized the trunk was gone too.” 

“He claimed she took it with her, but I know she would never do that. I told the police that I think he killed my sister and then used the trunk to get rid of her.”

Philip nods. “I’ve had the firm’s top investigators on the case for months, but so far, they’ve managed to come up with nothing useful. I was speaking to your father recently and he recommended I reach out to you.” 

Tony purses his lips, looks between everyone in the room and then promptly stands up. “Can me and my protégé have a sec?”

Philip looks taken aback for a moment before gesturing to the door. 

“Pete, come on.” 

Peter scurries after him, waiting until the door shut behind them to question him. “She couldn’t be any more wrong about that video. She wasn’t forced to make it at all.” Tony announces.

Peter doesn’t say anything, just pinches his face in a skeptical turn of the lip.

“Think about our lessons on tells. The human face is a ridiculous piece of work, it’s constantly blaring out all our secrets as long as you know what to look for. Callie was calm when she was recording that video, she looked _excited_ to move on more than anything else.”

“I don’t know Mr. Stark…”

“Her jaw muscles were relaxed, not tight. Her nose wings weren’t dilated. She wasn’t reading a script, she was speaking from her heart. Do I really need to go on?” Peter doesn’t say anything, “What I really need is to skip past the med stuff and get you into the psych stuff apparently.”

“Anyway,” Tony declares, clapping Peter on both his shoulders, “I’m pleased to announce that this will be your first solo case.” 

Peter’s eyes bug out of his head. “ _You want me to what??_ ” 

“Every good detective needs to be able to find people who don’t want to be found. And usually, we’re finding criminals, so I personally think it’s ridiculously responsible of me to give you a bored housewife instead. It’s literally a case with training wheels.”

Peter shakes his head, “You can’t be sure Callie’s okay, what if there’s something to what her sister is saying?” he says, panic rising in his voice.

Tony catches his eye, serious and calm. “Whether Callie’s safe or in danger, she needs you to figure that out.” 

Peter narrows his eyes, “Is this just because your dad told that guy about us?” 

Tony pulls away, “Excuse you. I just think this is the perfect opportunity for you. Besides, I have my own case to do. The woman Callie mentioned, the girl on the subway. She was murdered just days before Callie disappeared and the man who pushed her was never found.” 

Peter looks concerned, arms crossed around himself. “I don’t know Mr. Stark. I’ve only been training for two months and you just said I had more training to do and-”

“Peter.” Tony’s voice is final, “You can learn as much psychology or sociology as you want, you could memorize a whole encyclopedia and learn how every poison in the world works. But if you’re not confident that you can connect the dots, then all of that doesn’t matter.” 

Peter stares, wide eyed. “When I told you you had the potential to become a great detective. I meant it. Even better than me one day.” Peter starts to shake his head, but Tony doesn’t let him finish, “You have good instincts and a good eye. You’ll be fine. And if you need me, you know I’m only a call away.” 

Peter’s lip tightens as he tries to look capable. “You got this?”

“Y-yeah, I got this.”

Tony grins, “Atta boy. Now go walk in there and knock their socks off!”

Peter gapes, “Hey! You’re leaving??”

“Gotta go Pete! Leads to find, cases to solve!” Tony calls as he turns the corner and disappears out of sight. 

Peter stands in the empty hallway and just sighs. 

 

 

He and Tony meet up in the brownstone later where Peter sees him go through the security footage from the subway. “Honestly,” Tony greets, “it’s pretty embarrassing I didn’t hear about this murder when it happened. But in my defense, they banned me from the news in rebab.”

Peter makes a face, “Yeah, I have noooo idea why.” 

“Watch it brat.”

Peter grins, pulling a chair next to him, “You go first?” he says.

“Alright. Mine’s basic. Woman waits on side of platform. Guy gives her a bouquet. Guy comes _back_ right after just to push her in front of the train.”

“Okay…maybe he’s just a crazy blood-lust kinda guy.” Peter muses. 

Tony makes a face, pulling at his lip. “Yeah, you’d think. But look at the guy. He’s being careful not to show his face to any of the cameras. What does that tell us?” he asks, looking at Peter.

Peter stares at the screen harder. “That he…that he planned it maybe? Might have gone to stake out the place so that he knew where to not look?”

“Exactly. Actually crazy people aren’t that cautious. And they definitely don’t plan their episode in advance.” 

“So what are you gonna do now?”

“Well the sketch of the guy’s face was useless considering all anyone had to go on was beard and sunglasses,” Tony flashes the picture at him and Peter can see how utterly unhelpful it is, “but! There’s a patch on his shoulder that seems like it could be something.”

Peter is less optimistic. “You wanna find the guy based on something on his jacket that none of the eye witnesses can remember?”

“I’ve done more with less.” Tony responds, in that signature cocky way and Peter just shrugs.

“Good luck Mr. Stark.” 

“How about you kid?”

Peter swivels in his chair, “Uhh, well I went through everything the other investigators had, like their videos and pictures, but Mr. Armistead was right, it wasn’t super useful. I mean…if Callie really _is_ hiding from her husband, then she’s doing a really good job. I get why the police called off the search.” 

“You spoken to Drew yet?”

Peter frowns, “No. I called his gallery, but they said he was out of town so I’m going to go down there and do my best Jake Peralta impression. Or maybe I should be Amy…” Tony looks utterly blank faced and Peter flails his arms around, “Brooklyn Nine Nine?? Hello??” 

“Peter I stopped being ‘with it’ when I was five. It’s never gonna happen. And since you’re free tonight, you should practice breaking into cars like I taught you. Use the ones in the garage.”

Peter groans, “I hate doing that. I always set the alarms off!”

Tony gives him a flat stare, “Hence the practice.”

They have a stand-off before Peter sighs dramatically. “Fine! But! We’re _going_ to watch sitcoms and that’s a promise.” Peter retorts.

“Maybe when I’m _dead_.” 

“I make your breakfast in the morning.” Peter taunts.

“Stephen would never let you kill me.” Tony says with a flourish.

“Only because he wouldn’t trust me to pick the right poison.” Peter sulks, pouting. 

Tony throws his head back and laughs. 

 

 

The next morning, Peter takes the subway down to Drew Gardner’s art gallery. Peter’s caught him right as he’s unlocking the door to the gallery. “Mr. Gardner?” he calls and the man looks up.

He looks the same as in the photos from his file and Peter isn’t really sure why he thought he’d look different. But he’s still clean shaven and well-dressed. Maybe that’s just the artsy vibe. “Can I help you?” he asks.

“I’m Peter Parker. I’m a…” he stops, he’s never done this alone before. 

Oh God. What to say.

“I’m helping a detective with his investigation about your wife disappearing. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?” he finally manages to get out.

Drew stares at him. “Aren’t you still in high school?” 

“Ms. Anderson, your sister-in-law, hired my boss, Mr. Stark as a consulting detective. I’m his assistant.” 

Drew still looks skeptical, but opens the door and gestures for him to come in. “Sure, I’ll tell you what you want to know.” 

Drew leads Peter into his office and shuts the door quietly. “I thought Callie leaving me was the worst thing to ever happen to me.” he smiles, but it has no joy, “But I was wrong. The worst thing was Rebecca thinking I’d hurt her.”

Peter sits in the chair, hiding his palms so that Drew can’t see how tightly they’re clenched. This is his first solo case. His first time interrogating a suspect. His first chance at proving that Tony’s faith in him wasn’t misguided. 

_You could know everything, but if you’re not confident, it doesn’t amount to much._

He can do this. 

He’s _Tony Stark’s_ protégé.

“You didn’t find it strange that Callie didn’t contact you or Rebecca after she left?” he presses.

Drew shrugs, “Yeah, I guess I do.” he stops, “But do I find it stranger than her packing her stuff and sending me a Dear John letter via video? No.” 

Peter nods, “Ms. Anderson mentioned that Callie left you a year and a half ago, what happened?”

“It was just a couple days, but it gutted me. That time she _did_ call me and I begged her to come home. I told her that whatever was bothering her, we could work it out. I guess I got through to her because she came back that time.” he looks away, caught in his own moment. 

“Would you mind telling me what she said was bothering her?” Peter pushes, voice soft.

Drew shakes his head, looking lost. “That’s the thing. I have no idea. The first time she left, it was so out of the blue. I thought things were great between us. Obviously I was wrong.”

“And what about the second time?”

“She seemed a little distant. A little depressed.” he moves his hands as though to say he doesn’t know. 

Peter’s gut pangs.

“I think it had something to do with that woman who got pushed.”

Peter nods, “Yeah, the one from the video right?”

Drew nods and Peter chews on his lip. “What about the trunk? The one that went missing.”

Drew groans, rubbing at his temple, bordering on shouting. “I don’t know how many times I have to say that Callie took it before Rebecca’ll believe me.” he looks at Peter, eyes earnest, “I just wish I could make her understand that I want Callie back too.” 

“I know our marriage is beyond salvageable. But I’m worried about her. I want to tell her that it’s okay, that I want her to be happy. Even if being happy means being with somebody else.” 

Peter’s eyes widen as he gives Drew a tight-lipped smile, standing up. “I’m sorry about everything that’s happened Mr. Gardner. And thanks again for answering my questions.”

Drew offers his hand to shake. “Absolutely. Whatever helps you find Callie.”

Peter smiles, but there’s no warmth. 

As soon as he’s out of the gallery, he clicks Tony’s speed-dial number and waits for him to pick up. He may not have been a detective for long, but he knew enough to know when someone like that was hiding something. 

“Mr. Stark? Remember when you said Callie Gardner would be okay?” Peter turns to see Drew staring at him from his office window, “I think you’re wrong. I think her husband killed her.” 

 

Peter meets Tony at home where he pulls out his phone to play the recording he took of Drew’s interrogation that he found in Armistead’s files. He presses play, fast-forwarding until the end where Drew says, “I want to tell her that it’s okay, that I want her to be happy. Even if being happy means being with somebody else.” 

Peter looks up with frenzied eyes, pausing the device, “That’s the exact same thing he said to me when I went to go visit him and this recording is from his interview with the police when Callie first got reported missing.” 

Tony stares. “And because he said the same thing before, you think he’s a murderer?”

“No it’s not just that! It’s- it’s- I had this _vibe_ the whole time he was talking to me, like he rehearsed all this, like he just…came up with a story and just stuck with it.” 

Tony twirls his pen in the air, “Maybe he just had to repeat himself so much he got used to the same story? Think about it, this guy’s had to answer what were probably the same questions to a dozen people, the cops, his family, his friends, us.” Peter’s expression falls and he looks down at the floor.

“Hey, I’m not trying to sink your ship, you might be right about him. I just want to make sure you’re thinking everything through.”

Peter’s mouth flattens into a hard line, “There’s just something about him Mr. Stark…I don’t like it.” 

Tony leans back, looks at him, then nods. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right. Your housewife case just became a murder. You still want to do this on your own?” 

Peter’s jaw tightens. “Yeah. I wanna bring him down.” 

Tony smiles and if there’s something proud behind his eyes, he doesn’t say it. He leans forward, ruffles Peter’s hair so that Peter ducks his head, pushing his hands off laughing. “Listen, I totally want to do this on my own but...if you were doing this case...what would your next move be?”

Tony’s lip quirks up. “You got his number?”

Peter nods and Tony gets up, jerking his head to get him to follow him. “We’re gonna gaslight him.”

“We’re gonna _what?_ ”

“I’m suddenly really glad we’re having this conversation. Gaslighting is abuse. It’s when you give a victim false info with the intention of disorienting them or influencing them a certain way. It’s a manipulation tactic and a way abusers keep their relationships. If someone does that to you, run.” While he talks, he opens a closet, pulling out a giant box filled with cell-phones of all types.

“Okay, what you’re saying is super important but why do you have so many phones??” Peter gapes, digging his hand around through all of them.

“They’re burners. Untraceable and ready for the trash when we’re done with them.” Tony pulls a random one out of the box, switching it on, “Give me his number.”

Peter dutifully reads it out loud and watches as Tony types _I know that you killed her. I know what you did with her body_ before sending it just as fast.

“Consider Drew’s gas properly lit.” Tony smirks.

“So now we watch him?” Peter asks.

“This part of the game is all about surveillance. Seeing where he goes, who he talks to. Ideal scenario? He leads us to the weapon or the body. The point of this move is to throw the guy off his rhythm, manipulate him into making a mistake he otherwise wouldn’t have.” 

“Get rid of this.” Tony hands Peter the phone, “I gotta jet, but be careful with the surveillance, okay? Don’t go alone.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Peter calls, watching as Tony darts out the door.

“Interrogating a suspect with Steve!” 

 

The man in the interrogation room is a skinny white guy with greying hair and a thick jean jacket. Steve sits across from him while Tony stands, holding a manila file. “Do you recognize this woman, Miss. Angela Tully?” 

Tony slides a photo of the woman who was pushed in the subway across to him. The man looks at her and shrugs. “Yeah, she was the girl in the news. Got pushed in front of a train or something.” 

Tony nods, “Yeah, that’s true. But that’s not how you knew her though, right Johnathan? You worked together in the same building. She was a secretary, you were a janitor.”

The man glowers. “Yeah, what about it?”

Steve leans his elbow on the table. “You remember seeing her on the subway platform?”

The man doesn’t say anything. “I had a theory last night, that whoever killed Angela Tully had been on that platform before. He’d studied it, he’d known where the cameras were. So I combed through all the footage from the weeks before her murder and you’ll just never guess who I saw following her nearly all the time.” Tony drawls, staring right at him.

Steve clicks a button and the old television set plays the DVD Tony had inserted before the meeting started. It’s a black and white video clip of the subway platform Angela Tully was standing on and clearly in the left corner, Johnathan was hiding behind one of the metal pillars casually angling his phone at her.

“You’re trying to hide it,” Steve starts, “but you were recording her.” Steve’s eyes narrow, “You have a record. A stalking charge six years ago.”

“That was a misunderstanding.” Johnathan replies coolly.

“Oh yeah?” Tony interjects, “Was pushing Angela into the subway a misunderstanding too? You’re what? Six foot three? So was the pusher.” he shrugs, “Slap on a fake beard from the Halloween store and some sunglasses and bam!” 

To prove his point, he clicks a button on the remote and the next clip comes up, dated the day Angela died. The man with the bouquet is visible, but his face hidden. 

Johnathan curls his hands into fists atop the table, teeth clenched. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I could _never_ hurt Angela.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Just like how you wouldn’t stalk or record her too? 

The man glares. “Fine. I was there that night. I was recording. But I didn’t kill her.” Steve and Tony stare expectantly, “I thought she’d seen me a couple days before, so I stared wearing that hat and scarf to hide my face.” he points to the screen, “I was there. I’m just not in the frame.”

Steve raises his brows, “Convenient isn’t it?” 

Johnathan looks pained. “You still don’t get it. I can prove I didn’t push her. I was recording her that day too.” 

Tony looks up sharply. “Well why the hell didn’t you say so??” 

Steve sees Johnathan off after they’ve transferred the file from his phone to his computer. Tony watches the footage over and over, eyes creased from all the strain. The video is clear. It’s shot from behind the pillar Jonathan was hiding behind. It shows the exchange of the flowers, the man walking off, and then coming back to push her as he walks by Angela followed by Angela’s sharp scream and Johnathan’s twisted, “God! No!” 

Steve grips his shoulder, eyes grave. “What do you think?” 

Tony frowns. “That’s obviously that guy’s voice. But he’s not in the video so technically anyone could have filmed it.” he sighs, but it’s frustrated, sharp, “I thought at least _this_ video would show that asshole’s face. But no. I didn’t even see the patch.” 

Steve gives him an apologetic smile, drinking from his Captain America mug. “Alright, so this was a dead end. We’ll find a new lead.”

Tony stares. “Hold on. You still have kid comic book paraphernalia?” he snickers, bursting into harder giggles at Steve’s defensive pout.

“It was a gift!” he insists. 

“Do you know how many gifts I get that I don’t use?” 

“I liked Captain America. He inspired me.” Steve mumbles.

Tony laughs harder, “Oh God, that’s precious. Should I call you Captain Rogers?”

Steve glares harder. 

Tony has a million more quips to shoot out before his phone rings. He sees Peter’s name and holds up a finger, “Hold that thought Cap, it’s the kid.” 

“Don’t call me-” but Tony’s making a zip it motion and the door slams in Steve’s face a second after. 

“Pete, how’s it going.”

“Mr. Stark I’m _bored_.” Peter whines and Tony can hear him rustling around in the seat. 

Tony snorts. “Yeah, staking out is boring. But it’s also the most important part of detective work. Chin up kid. Plus, you have Dr. Weird with you to keep you company.”

“You owe me at least twelve hours of meeting time for this Tony.” Stephen yells and Tony sighs.

“Can’t you just admit you love me and do things for free now?”

“In your dreams asshole.” 

Tony’s grin is automatic. “Aww man foreplay.”

He can practically _see_ Peter’s upturned nose as he yells a mortally offended “Gross! Get your own phone!” 

“Peter don’t goof off on cases, it’s bad form.” Tony reprimands, hiding a chuckle at Peter’s sharp intake of breath. 

He cuts Peter off before he can go into a tirade. “He hasn’t left his office yet?”

“No.” Peter replies sulkily.

“I guess our text didn’t scare him. But keep at it. He might just be waiting for a good opportunity.” 

Peter sighs. “Alright. Fine.” 

“And no peeing in bottles. You have a partner to watch for you.”

“Mr. Stark!!” Peter screeches and this time Tony can’t muffle his laugh, “We’re going now, thanks for nothing!!” he yells before hanging up.

Tony shakes his head, tucking his phone into his pocket and joining Steve in the conference room. The video is playing again and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the break, or the laughter, or the focus on listening, but all his senses sharpen and he jumps over Steve to pause the video. “Did you hear that??” he whisper yells, rewinding the tape.

“Hear what?”

“The busker. The violinist. He’s playing Paganini’s twenty-four caprices, Opus one, Number eleven. Here.” he presses play and they both strain to hear anything.

Steve sighs. “I can’t hear anything over the train.”

“Yeah, neither can I.” 

Steve looks flabbergasted, “Then how do you know he’s playing Paganini’s whatever?”

Tony looks at him like it’s obvious. “I can see it. I know that entire piece just by the fingering.” His lip curls up a little from the innuendo and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Nice Tony.” he comments dryly. 

Tony waggles his brows, “I used to play piano as a kid. Did a bit of violin too.” 

“Huh.” Steve muses, “You’re artsier than you look.”

“I’m a man of many talents.” Tony confirms, “But back to the busker. The weird part isn’t that he’s playing, the weird part is that he stops right in the middle of the song.” He rewinds the tape again to prove his point, “Why? Why does he stop before the actual meat of the song?” Tony pauses the tape just as the busker looks up, his eyes widening “It’s because he saw the pusher.”

Steve stares and then clarity dawns, “He knows him.”

Tony nods, voice dark, “He might even have known what he was going to do. We find the busker we find the pusher.” 

 

Peter and Stephen are deathly bored when Peter passes him a bag of M&M’s and decides to just skip the small talk and get into the good stuff. “So, what’s it like being a prof?” he asks, eyes still on Drew through the window of his office. 

Stephen glances at him, sighs, and then settles into his seat. “It’s nice. I get to do research, work my PhD students for all their worth. And there’s something to be said about the reward there comes from teaching.” 

Peter tilts his head, “But you miss being a surgeon?” 

Stephen closes his eyes. “Yeah. I miss it. But, part of my recovery process is trying to make my current life the one I want.”

“It’s because of the accident right?” Peter says quietly, before jolting up, hands waving around, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve made my peace with it. I’d be curious too, what with these.” he holds out his scarred hands. 

Peter nods slowly. Almost guiltily. 

“I was a surgeon. So not only was I narcissist by nature, the job makes anyone feel like God. You’re there at the operating table with just a scalpel and a tube and you’re transplanting entire organs or sealing up life-threatening wounds. People that would have died if you hadn’t been there become a part of your life and you end up feeling like you’re bigger than all of it.” 

“And then one day I’m driving on one of those roads that curves around a mountain with a barrier so minimal it’s basically useless. And I decide to be stupid and speed on turns I know I should slow down on.” he shrugs, trying to be casual, but Peter can see the pain in his eyes. The regret. “Next thing I know, I’m breaking through the rail and crashing all the way down to the bottom. I was ‘lucky’ to be alive.” his lips curve up in a wry smile, bitter and resentful.

“I didn’t know what there was to feel lucky about. The accident destroyed my hands. I couldn’t move them at all in the beginning. I had lost my full independence, my pride, my entire career. And the bitterness made me…well it ruined me. And it ruined my relationships. Until eventually all I had was just my addiction.” 

Peter can’t speak, his heart just aches and aches and aches. 

“But eventually, I got help. I went to rehab, started the program. Got my two year chip. Applied for the professor job and here I am. Now I get to research how to repair damaged nerve tissue and help design prosthetics for those who need them and that’s a lot better than being drunk in my apartment, alone.” 

Stephen looks at Peter and softens. “It’s why I like your mentor. We’re similar him and I. Being smarter than the people around us, the superiority complex, the wit. Those can be our biggest flaws but sometimes, we can turn them into strengths.” 

Peter smiles and he hopes it isn’t as watery as he feels. “Mr. Stark likes you a lot. He’d never admit it, but he seems a lot happier now that you’re his sponsor.”

Stephen looks surprised, then looks away. “Good. He better appreciate it. All this hassle. God. I don’t know any other sponsor stuck doing stake-outs.” 

“Sponsors might not. But friends do.” Peter smiles at him, “I appreciate you coming out with me.”

Stephen grunts. “Wouldn’t want you up to no good or anything.” 

Peter grins before he sees Drew step out of the gallery locking it behind him. It’s night now and he revs up the engine. “Where are you going Drew…” 

They end up at a storage warehouse in the middle of nowhere. They watch Drew talk to the manager, walk into the building where the units were and come out twenty minutes later with Rebecca’s trunk. The one Drew had insisted Callie took. The one Rebecca was sure had her body. 

Peter looks at Stephen, “That’s the trunk. The one Rebecca thinks he hid Callie’s body with.” He watches as Drew opens his car trunk and hauls it in before going back inside the manager’s office.

Stephen looks incredulous, “Are you telling me there’s a person in there??” he hisses, “We need to call your detectives.”

But Peter shakes his head, “No, not yet. I want to do this myself.” 

“Peter-”

“I can do it. I’ve been practicing how to open car locks for weeks now.”

“I don’t think you can’t do it, I just don’t think you _should_ do it.” Stephen insists but Peter’s already pulling the slim Jim out from the backseat and walking out towards Drew’s car, making sure to keep low. 

He creeps up to the front of Drew’s car to the driver’s side, slipping the metal piece down between the window and the door, wriggling it around until he swiped up, pulling the lock up with it. He presses the button for the trunk door to open, running to the back to see Rebecca’s trunk, just lying there. Peter’s heart is hammering in his chest as he removes the lock pick in his pocket to go at the lock when a door opens behind him.

“Hey! Kid! Get away from the car!” a security guard shines a flash light in his face as Peter freezes, mouth open.

“Hey! That’s my car!” Drew yells, running out to meet them. 

The security guard points at Peter, “I caught him breaking in.” But Drew isn’t listening, he’s just staring.

“You’re that kid. From yesterday. The one with the questions.”

Peter’s expression tightens, turning around to the guard, “I’m helping a consulting detective with an investigation and we believe this guy murdered his wife and stuffed her into that trunk to hide her body!”

“What?? That’s a lie!” Drew yells, stepping closer, but Peter refuses to budge.

Peter whips around, “Well there’s an easy way to prove me wrong isn’t there? Just open the trunk and show us.” 

“I don’t have to open up anything.” Drew answers, voice low.

But Peter is relentless, “Hey Mister, just look at your phone, google him. Drew Gardner, you’ll see that his wife disappeared six months ago, same time as this trunk went missing.” 

The guard balks, looking between the two of them before pulling out his phone. A minute later, he points his flashlight at Drew. “Sir, would you please open the trunk.” 

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“If you have nothing to hide, you shouldn’t mind showing us.” he says evenly. 

Drew glares, pushing Peter out of the way to put his key into the lock. Peter holds his breath as he flips open the lid. Drew smirks beside him. 

It’s completely empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm experimenting with a narrative style with this chapter. I'm trying to see if it's better to split up the mysteries in two chapters or in one so if you have a preference, drop it in a comment and let me know what you think! 
> 
> I hope you guys liked today's mystery and I promise, next one is gonna have a fun twist for you!


	6. It's Always The Butler

Peter sits with his knees pulled up on the bench in the jail cell he’s in when he sees Tony walking towards him. “Is this what they mean about losing your teenagers to hooliganism?” he greets wryly.

Peter groans, sinking deeper into the bench. “Don’t joke. I feel so stupid right now.” 

“Don’t. You followed your instincts. You took a chance. I would’ve thought the same thing if I were you.”

Peter looks up from where his head is tucked within his knees. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tony nods, “I mean, would I have still thought that when I got close enough and couldn’t smell a rotting corpse? Different story.” Peter’s face falls, “But! I’m a huge advocate of going with your gut. Plus, I bailed you out, so you can come sleep in your bed instead of that wooden board they pass as an actual sleeping place.” 

Peter tries to smile, but he’s still feeling miserable and beyond idiotic. “I just don’t get it. If he didn’t use it to hide her body, why the hell did he have it?”

“Spite.” Tony shrugs, “He sold it right after he found Callie’s video. He never told Rebecca because he knew it was a shitty thing to do, not to mention it wasn’t his to sell. Apparently your visit inspired him to come clean, he was going to give Rebecca the trunk so she wouldn’t think he used it to hide Callie’s body. Like I said, it was sketchy- you had good instincts kid.”

“Yeah. Still wrong though.” he says bitterly.

“So what? You were wrong about the trunk, doesn’t mean you were wrong about him being a murderer.” 

Peter stares at him with sad eyes but Tony’s quick to move on. “Plus, I can’t believe Stephen let you do that. Worst baby sitter ever.”

Peter snorts, flopping onto the wooden plank. “Not his fault. He told me not to and I locked him in the car.”

Tony tries not to laugh but he can’t help it, pressing a hand against his mouth. “You _locked him in the car??_ ” 

“I had to!” 

“Ok. You’re grounded- or something. I don’t know. I should buy a parenting book or something. _Jesus_. But for now. Just- sit there. And feel guilt or something.” 

“I said I was sorry!” 

But Tony is already turning away, mumbling under his breath, “Locking people in cars, getting arrested, God what’s next?” 

“Wait! Mr. Stark! The dinner.” 

“The what?”

“The dinner, tomorrow night. With your dad. He sent me a message after everything went down.”

“Oh God, he figured out your number huh? Listen, getting rejected isn’t easy, but I’m glad he canceled this early.”

“What?” Peter scrunches his face, “No, he didn’t cancel. He said he wants to meet me tomorrow too and was wondering if Lure at seven was good. Since _apparently_ , you’re ignoring his texts.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Kid, it’s not happening. He isn’t coming. We have nothing to worry about.” 

But Peter won’t budge. “We can’t not go. It’s rude.” 

And neither will Tony. “We won’t. And it’s not.”

But Peter’s staring at him like he doesn’t even know who he is. He gets up, staring Tony down with persistent eyes. “He’s your dad. You can’t just-”

“Yeah. He’s my dad. But where’s he been all my life huh?” Tony interrupts, bitter. 

“He got you rehab didn’t he?” Peter says quietly and watches as Tony flinches.

“You’ll learn this when you’re older Peter.” Tony’s eyes are hard, “But I’m happy to be teaching you now. One good deed doesn’t wipe away eons of bad ones.”

Peter taps one hand against the glass. Hard. “Yeah. And he’s trying to do one more, what’s the problem??”

“The problem is that he isn’t showing up and I refuse to go and be proven right. But you’re not a prisoner. You want to go,” Tony gestures widely, “go right ahead.” 

Then Tony turns, and walks away. 

Alone in the cell, Peter collapses back down onto the plank, head in his hands. He breathes in, ragged and deep and tries to calm down. He doesn’t- he doesn’t even know why he’s reacting like this. Why it’s so important to him. He just knows that he lost his temper and that in the back of his mind, he just really misses May.

So much.

It pounds and aches and throbs right in the crux of his heart. 

An hour later, Steve comes by to get him. “How you doing Queens?” 

He tries to smile, “Not bad. Is…is Mr. Stark still here?”

“He stayed to process all the paperwork, but he asked me to take you home.” Steve almost looks apologetic, but Peter doesn’t know what for. 

It’s not like _he_ was the one who couldn’t stand to see Peter’s face. The thought makes his stomach twist and for the first time, he feels insecure about the fragility of his life. What if one day Tony just…

Peter shakes his head. 

People fight. 

Right?

As though sensing his emotional tornado, Steve squeezes his shoulder in the car ride home. “You and Tony argue?” 

Peter shrugs, “Kinda. I don’t know.” he bites his lip and then huffs, “He’s just so stubborn!! He always thinks he’s right and he can’t ever admit that maybe he could be wrong just once!” 

Steve’s lip curls into a wry smile. “Yeah, that sounds like Tony.” 

“Well it’s frustrating!” Peter exclaims before quieting, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just…”

“It’s fine. It’s good to let it out.”

There’s a few moments of quiet before, “I just…if my parents were alive…I’d jump at the chance to talk to them, you know?” he says and his voice is so quiet he isn’t even sure he says it but when he does, he knows that they strike true in his heart and he finally understands his reaction. 

“Yeah. I know how you feel.” Steve says and Peter’s surprised, looking up at him from the corner of his eye, “My dad died before I can really remember it and my mom died a bit after. I was on my own a lot when my best friend’s family took me in. And I’d see our friends rebel against their parents and get mad at them and ignore their calls and I’d get all pissed off because they had no idea how much they would all miss it when it was gone.” 

Peter curls in on himself tighter in his seat. “But that’s the thing Peter, their experiences are their experiences. Those fights they were having were probably worth having and those issues needed to be hashed out and no amount of feeling grateful that at least your parents are alive will get rid of every issue you might have and Tony…Tony’s issues with his dad aren’t as clear-cut as early curfews.” 

Peter furrows his brows. “Did he actually talk to you?? About it.”

Steve huffs a laugh, “Tony? Have a sit down talk about his feelings? No, not really. He just mentioned a few things here and there. But the point is that some wounds need more than time to heal, and I know that it’s frustrating to watch people take for granted opportunities you can’t have anymore, but I’m sure it’s not easy for Tony either. He lost his mom too you know.” he says gently. 

Peter ducks his head, still feeling resentful, but the guilt pools in alongside it. “I guess so. I don’t know. It just- it just sucks.” 

“Yeah. Fighting always sucks. But you guys will work it out. Family always does.”

And Steve pulls up at the curb just as the word family sinks right into Peter’s chest and he wonders if it’s too soon and he wonders how he feels and wonders if the word is heavy or just right when Steve smiles at him. “Just sleep on it Peter. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

When Peter walks in, he can hear Black Sabbath playing from the basement. He bites his lip, considers going down, but then decides against it. 

They can talk later. 

 

 

Tony wakes him up with an antique alarm clock he’d set for five minutes after dropping it on his nightstand. Peter shoots up, bleary eyed before smacking the alarm silent. Fifteen minutes later, he’s downstairs with his hair still sticking up and Tony’s grinning. “Morning sunshine.”

“Morning” he mumbles, yawning.

Tony hands him a cup of coffee and Peter can see he’s already on his third. His fingers curl around the cup and he isn’t really sure how to go on from there, but Tony catches his eye. “About yesterday. I shouldn’t have lost it on you.” 

Peter looks at him with big eyes, “I’m not going to say I’ll go, but you’re just trying to reconcile us and I appreciate that, no matter how misguided it is. This isn’t on you kid.”

Peter gives him a lopsided smile, a little awkward, a little sorry, a little sad. “I’m sorry too. I just…I just thought about May I guess.” he shrugs, looking away.

Tony’s expression falters for a second, a little light dawning in the back of his eyes. “You and May? That was the real deal. If it was my mom calling, I’d’ve taken a plane to the other side of the world to see her. Me and my dad…” he sighs, “it’s complicated and not for you to worry about. What is for you to worry about is our two cases. I think we should work them together.”

Peter knows he’s trying to steer them away from topics of the heart and so nods, the coffee finally sparking in his brain. “Yeah ok, sure, sure.” 

Half an hour later, they find themselves at a street corner where the busker from the video Tony showed him is playing on his violin. “Hey Thomas, how’s the Bach going?”

The man stops playing, wariness creeping into the edge of his eyes. “How do you know my name.”

“I’d blame your record for that.” Tony answers, “You got in trouble playing in the subway a lot. Is that why you’re out here?” 

“So you’re cops.”

“No, we’re better than cops.” 

Peter pulls out a photo of the woman who was pushed, “Is this woman familiar to you?”

The man’s face is blank. “No.”

“Well you were there the night someone pushed her in front of a train.” Thomas looks like he wants to object, but Peter beats him to it, “We have proof. You’re in the security footage.”

Thomas sags, “Ok, alright. Yeah, I was there. But I didn’t see it happen!” he says adamantly, “I left before that.”

Tony’s brows jerk up in a mocking way, “Yeah, of course you’d leave. The second the pusher came in, you left. And I think it’s because you know him.”

He shuts down immediately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Actually, you know exactly what I’m talking about. And the sooner you tell me, the less likely I am to go tell the cops that you’re a pickpocket.” the man gapes, “I watched you a few minutes go. I’ll admit, you’re not bad. I mean, that’s to be expected what with all the finger gymnastics with the violin and all.”

Thomas stares at him, jaw clenched before he shakes his head. “Look, I didn’t know the guy okay. I just knew his face because I’d snatched his wallet earlier that day but before I could pocket it, he grabbed me and I panicked and punched him in the jaw before running.” 

“That’s why you ran?” Peter asks.

“Yeah I mean, when I saw him come in, I thought he’d recognize me and call the cops so I left.”

Tony claps his hands, “Well congratulations, today’s your lucky day. Your sticky hands might come into good use. The man, the pusher, he was wearing a jacket with a patch on his arm. You have to study your targets before trying to pickpocket them right? You must have gotten a good look at it.” 

A bit later, Tony and Peter have a full colour rendering of the patch that Tony matches to a logo using an internet search and the case goes warm again. While Tony stays at the station to put out the logo alongside the original call for information about the pusher, Peter takes a subway down to Rebecca’s house to check in with her about the trunk and whether her feelings about the case had changed. 

Rebecca smiles when she sees him at her door. “Peter right? Come in. Do you have more questions for me?”

“Just one really, the trunk, is everything okay about it? No red flags or something missing?”

She shakes her head, “No. It seems just right.” she looks into her lap, “It’s so awful of me but I almost wish…” she buries her head in her hands, “God it sounds so terrible to say but at least then I would know.”

Peter’s heart aches in his chest. “We’re not going to stop until we find out what happened to your sister I-” he stops, his focus shattered as he sees a picture frame lying innocently on the buffet. 

It’s a picture of Callie in the exact same jacket the pusher was wearing, same logo, same colour, same everything. 

“Peter?”

“Callie’s jacket- that patch-”

Rebecca turns to look at where she’s pointing, “Oh, you mean Drew’s jacket.” 

“…Drew’s?”

Rebecca smiles, but it’s just a shadow, “It was really cold out that day and Drew let her wear it. She called it his hippie coat because he got it at a concert in college or something.” 

Peter’s thoughts were smashing together at impossible speeds as a plethora of facts swirled together into an incoherent whole. “Miss. Anderson this is gonna sound weird but, has Drew ever had a beard?”

“Yeah, for a while. He shaved it off around the same time Callie disappeared.” she answers slowly. 

Peter’s stomach drops. 

 

 

Their crime collage at home has grown exponentially. Tony of course, is right in his element. “Okay, what do we know?” he says grandly, “Angela Tully was murdered six months ago by a bearded man and we know Drew Gardner had a beard at that time. He also owned an identical jacket as the killer did. Several days later, Callie Gardner records a video in which she says the murder on the train has affected her, it’s made her think, so she leaves Drew.”

Peter nods.

“Thanks to your detective work- great job kid-” Peter’s kinda mortified by how much he preens, “we have good reason to believe Drew was the pusher.”

“Okay, but why?” Peter presses, “Did he _want_ Callie to leave him? But how could he even know that she would even be that effected? It doesn’t make sense!” he shrinks, “Or…I don’t know, maybe I read too much into the photo.” 

“Peter, self-doubt is the detective’s poison. Yeah, you got arrested because you had a hunch that didn’t pan out. Big whoop. You know how many times I’ve been in a holding cell?”

“Too many times to be a role model?”

Tony smacks the table top. “Exactly.” 

“But seriously, what’s the first thing I taught you?” Tony pushes. 

Peter sighs, “That there’s no such thing as coincidences.” he recites.

And Tony’s giving him a look and so Peter straightens and tries to push away all his doubts and insecurities. He belongs here. He can do this. 

Him being here isn’t a fluke. 

Tony crosses his arms. “Do you want to solve this or go sulk in your room?”

“I wanna solve it!” 

Tony grins. 

“Okay.” Peter says, “Two events. First, one murder. Second, one disappearance.”

“Right. Event A can’t affect Event B in any sane, rational way. But they’re one hundred percent, without a doubt, connected.” Tony starts to pace, “Drew had a motive to kill Callie, but no real link to Angela, and so no real motive. So the question is, what are the odds that the murder on the subway would inspire his wife to leave the marriage for a second time? How does A lead to B?”

Peter chews on his lip, staring at the collage before he pauses, “What if A didn’t lead to B?” he asks, “What if B led to _A._ ” 

 

 

Steve brings Drew Gardner into interrogation two hours later. “For the last time, I didn’t kill Callie.” 

Peter watches behind the glass as Tony crosses his arms, “Actually, we’re accusing you of two murders now, Callie’s, and the woman who got pushed in front of the subway.” 

“What are you even talking about?”

“Six months ago, you had a beard like this one in the sketch, you also owned an army jacket with a distinctive patch on the right arm.”

“I gave that jacket to Goodwill ages ago.” Drew answers, forcibly cool. 

Tony rolls his eyes, “Did you donate your beard too? Or did you just shave it to look less like the man who murdered Angela Tully? Last night, Peter and I were talking and- for the first time in a while- I was confused. But in my defense, the sequence of events didn’t make sense. You choose a woman at random and then you shove her to death. Days later, that crime inspires your wife to leave you.”

Tony tilts his head, “Now the odds of the first event leading to the second is just crazy tiny, but then, Peter remembered your wife left you before and that’s when it hit us. That video Callie gave you, that wasn’t from six months ago, it was a year and a half ago, from the first time she left you.”

Drew sputters his objections, “That’s not true.” 

“Pretend that it is.” Tony replies coolly, “The video is eighteen months old and Callie talks about a woman pushed in front of a train, the woman with the flowers. If this was from a while ago, that means there had to be another case like that, and what do you know?” Tony pulls up an article on his phone, “There was.” 

“Anna Peters was pushed by accident into the train track when a group of boys got into a shoving match beside her. She was holding a bouquet of roses to bring to her friend in the hospital.”

Drew crosses his arms around himself, shifting in his seat. 

“Weird right? How the man who murdered Angela Tully six months ago randomly gave her a bouquet of flowers too.” Tony’s voice drops as his hands hit the table, “You gave her those flowers. Why? Because you figured out a way to kill your wife and get away with it. You’d use the video she sent you a year ago to explain her disappearance. All you needed was a subway crime recent enough to make sense. So, when that wasn’t magically gonna happen, you went out and did it yourself.”

“You’re insane.” Drew hisses, “You and that kid, you’re crazy. You’re so obsessed with me being guilty you’re making up an entire _story_ to fit your stupid theory.” 

Tony shrugs, “Fine. Be difficult. But for the record, you’re saying Callie gave you that video six months ago?”

“ _Yes._ ” 

Tony’s grin looks devil given. “Fascinating. Because when we got access to Callie’s emails an hour ago, we checked the archives- nice try on trying to delete the evidence and resend the email from her account six months ago though- and whaddya know, she sent that email eighteen months ago, a few days after Anna Peters was murdered.” 

When Drew stares at him like his entire world has just shattered, Tony turns around to face the one-way glass window and shoots Peter a pair of finger guns. 

 

 

It’s 6:34, the case is all wrapped up, and Peter stands at the front door, hesitating but he’s not sure what for. He knows Tony won’t come. He’s made that abundantly clear. And for reasons Peter himself isn’t quite sure of, he knows he’s going to walk out and meet the infamous Howard Stark out of some probably delusional idea that he could help patch things up between him and his son. 

Or _at_ least find something out from Tony’s past. Anything. Because all he had to go on were snippets from Thor and Steve, that ballet poster downstairs, and rumors. 

The restaurant is not as fancy as he expected and he’s glad for it, feeling more at home. There’s a man with his back towards Peter waiting at the reserved table and Peter feels the butterflies swell in his stomach. Howard Stark is a shadow. A billionaire with an empire extending from technology to communications to development to deal negotiations. He’s heard whispers from Tony. Howard Stark is the man you call to get things done. He made the world go round. 

He’s arguably one of the most powerful men in the world and he was having lunch here, with Peter. 

But for Tony, Peter swallows his trepidation and sits across from him. “Mr. Stark?” he asks, and it feels weird to call him that, when he’s not his Mr. Stark at all.

The man smiles and it’s warm and jovial, nothing like what Peter expected at all- if a scary shadow with a face and horns could be considered a realistic expectation. “Mr. Parker! A pleasure to meet you.” he greets, shaking his hand firmly.

There’s something…lacking about him. Peter can’t quite put his finger on it, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Howard looks behind him at the door, “Is my son parking the car?”

Peter smiles apologetically, “No…Mr. Stark isn’t coming today.” 

The man sighs, “Don’t trouble yourself with excuses, I’d have been more surprised if he came to tell the truth. We’ve both built a wall between us.” a pause and then, “So how _is_ he doing?” 

“Good!” Peter perks up, “He’s doing really good especially since we have all these cool cases most of the time. And I think it’s really helping his recovery and oh! He’s been going to meetings more- he doesn’t even need me to drag him anymore. Especially now that he has Dr. Strange.”

“Dr. Strange?”

“Oh, he’s Mr. Stark’s sponsor, he talks to him whenever he’s feeling like he uhh…well when he’s feeling not great about being sober and stuff.” Peter finishes lamely. 

But Howard looks gentle- which is jarring considering all the stories Peter’s heard. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear he’s building a proper support system.”

Peter’s lip curls up, “Yeah, but he’s still really stubborn though. I’m trying to get him to cut down on coffee but boy is he attached.” 

Howard laughs, “Don’t I know it. He’s been stubborn since he was little. I remember when he was a boy, he’d climb the fence around our property and walk from post to post. I told him it was dangerous, but he wouldn’t listen. But then he falls and lands right on his wrist.” he wrinkles his nose, “It was terrible, his bone pierced right through the skin, but despite the pain, he set the bone and wrapped the wound up himself. He wore long sleeved shirts for days and kept the pain to himself all to keep his father from knowing.” 

Peter laughs, shaking his head, “Yeah, that sounds like him.” 

“I was hoping his stay at Hemlock would have helped him overcome that part of him.” 

Peter pauses, looking at him strangely. “What did you say?” 

Howard tilts his head, “Sorry?”

But it clicks in Peter’s head all at once. The off-factor is the drabness of Howard’s clothes. He’s in a suit but it’s not tailored, it’s loose around his shoulders and waist. He’s not wearing cufflinks and that isn’t indicative of anything specifically, but it’s not something an ultra rich man would forget. Even his tie is fraying slightly at the top as though worn from years of use.

Then there’s the story he told. It might not have been weird to reference himself in the third person as Tony’s father, but combined with the wrong look and then forgetting the name of Tony’s rehab centre when it was supposedly the one thing Howard Stark took an interest in, Peter’s on edge. 

“It’s Hemdale. He went to Hemdale Recovery Centre.”

“Ah.” The man retracts his hands from the table, “My mistake.”

Peter narrows his eyes, “You’re not Howard Stark are you?” 

The man stares at him for a long time, something coy pulling at his lips before he smiles, shaking his head. “No. I’m not.” 

“Then who are you?” Peter demands, feeling betrayed and off kilter.

The man sighs, “You can take a breath Peter. I mean you no harm. My name is Edwin Jarvis and I was Anthony’s butler growing up. I care about him very much.” 

“His butler?” Peter’s so confused he can’t even really process it all. 

“I’m sure you’re aware his parents weren’t around often. I filled in those gaps and we grew quite close.”

“But why-” Peter stops, making a sad, wry face, “He really didn’t come huh?”

“No.” Jarvis’ voice is quiet, “He did not. Anthony just didn’t want to upset you. Something about keeping your faith in people.”

Peter ducks his head, pulling his lip. Right at that moment, his phone pings. It’s from Howard. The real Howard. 

Or his assistant anyway.

_So sorry to cancel last minute, there’s been a development that I have to attend to, I hope we can reschedule._

“He’s a jerk.” Peter blurts out, before clapping his hands over his mouth, wide eyed.

But Jarvis just lets out an amused breath. “Sir has his moments. But this isn’t one of his good ones.” 

“So do you and Mr. Stark keep in touch? Even now?”

“Occasionally. Anthony’s flighty. Likes to drift in and out of my life, but he always comes back. There’s really only one person in the world he’s irrevocably attached to and that’s his childhood friend, James. Although it’s been difficult what with him enlisting in the army.” he looks disappointed for a few moments before smiling, “I’m very glad he’s found you. I think you’ve brought out a wonderful side to him. One he didn’t even know he had.” 

Peter blushes, his thoughts flitting back to Steve’s comment about family. “He told you about me?”

“A bit. We haven’t spoken until recently, not since he stopped using.”

Peter bites his lip, looking up at him hesitantly, “What was Mr. Stark like…when he was…when he was using?”

Jarvis sighs, “It was difficult. Very difficult. I’d always known he drank, did the occasional recreational drug as well, but I always thought he’d grow out of it. But one night, almost a year ago, he comes to my apartment, so drunk he can barely stand, let alone speak.” his eyes look pained, like he wishes he could go back in time and shield Tony away from everything that could harm him, “I took care of him, got him through the worst of the hangover and it was…terrible, to see his mind so scattered. But he just kept repeating the same name over and over.”

“Who’s name?”

Jarvis shook his head. “When I asked him about it, he said it was nothing and refused to talk about it. But I think it was very important, quite possibly the most important.” His eyes are steady when they catch Peter’s own, “I think you should have it. Maybe you can help him accept whatever’s come about it.” 

Peter comes home and his fingers hesitate before the knob. He pushes it open to find one lamp on and Tony sitting in the living room with a book in his lap, his eyes wary.

“Mr. Stark? I want to ask you something.”

“If you’re going to be upset about Jarvis, I was hoping you’d see the good in it.”

“No. Not that.” Peter takes in a breath. “It’s about London.” 

Tony tenses. 

“I know about Natasha. I want you to tell me about her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys, there's one more character development chapter and then the PLOT


	7. One, Two, Three Guns

Peter really doesn’t know why he’s surprised that Tony doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, he looks at him with those expressive eyes like Peter had just snapped the locks off doors Tony thought he’d barricaded under a landslide of denial and violence. His jaw tremors for just a second before he turns around and leaves the room. 

Peter feels horrible the second he sees Tony’s heart literally disintegrate in his eyes and wishes he could take it all back. But the words have left his mouth and they hang in the air like a fog. He just wanted to know more about what happened. About why Tony ended up alone in New York in a rehab facility far from home. He just wants to understand the man who took him in better. To maybe help him like Tony had done for him when Peter’s entire world felt like it had exploded into thousands of irreparable pieces. 

Instead, Tony doesn’t talk to him that night. Doesn’t wake him up early the next morning either and they’re edging into the evening again when Peter can’t take it anymore. “Mr. Stark, you can’t keep avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you.” he says quickly. 

Peter crosses his arms, “I’m sorry I asked you about what happened out of the blue. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just wanted to know, so that I could…I don’t know. I just wanted to understand you more.” he finishes quietly. 

Tony looks up from his book, expression cool. “Peter, you’ve seen me in a life or death situation, kidnapped, and after a solving a case high. I’d say you know me pretty well by now.”

“What?” he exclaims, incredulous, “I don’t know anything about you! I don’t know anything about your life or what you were like when you were younger or what happened when you weren’t here, but you know everything about me!”

“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re the kid. I’m the adult.” Tony softens then, “Besides. Everything worth knowing is who I am now. What happened in the past- it doesn’t matter.”

And usually Peter would let it slide, he _would_ , except he knows Tony doesn’t even believe what he’s saying himself. “I think it matters a lot.” he says quietly, “And I know that you can’t always talk to me because I’m- well, because you think you’re supposed to be taking care of me, but I _do_ know that you’re supposed to be able to let things go to move on from them but if you won’t even acknowledge what happened how are you supposed to do that?” 

Tony’s face…Peter can’t even describe it. He’s not angry or hurt or anything frightening or awful, he just looks like he knows. He knows and he’s miserable, but he’s trapped and Peter’s stomach twists at the very idea. 

“You sound like Stephen.” Tony says, like he’s trying to lighten the mood.

“Well- well good!” 

Tony looks away. “We’re not talking about this Peter. End of discussion.” 

Peter furrows his lips, prepped to protest, but Tony’s sharp stare stops him. “Fine.” he mutters. 

Peter walks to the fridge to make some eggs or whatever else is easy when Tony stands, “There’s a murder that happened twelve years ago that’s still unsolved. I found a new lead so I’m going to go check it out. You don’t get a lot of free time so maybe see your friends or something.”

He won’t even look at him. 

It’s obvious he doesn’t want company and even more obvious he means Peter’s company specifically, so he doesn’t argue, just gives Tony a pained smile and nods. “Good luck Mr. Stark.”

The awkwardness is gruesome in its permanence. 

That’s when Peter gets an idea. If Tony won’t give him answers…then maybe people from his past _would_.

 

Hemdale Recovery Centre is far and out of the way, but it’s stunning. A four-story mansion placed neatly in the middle of a grand estate complete with bright green trees and meticulously manicured flower gardens. It’s easy enough to get inside and talk to the coordinator, who answers his questions while she’s busy arranging chairs in a neat circle. “You want to know about Tony?” she asks, already looking tired just from the thought, “That’s easy. He was childish and self-absorbed beyond belief. He spent every group session in complete silence except for a deflection quip and was one-hundred percent the most uncooperative patient I’ve ever had.” 

Peter winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah…that’s what I thought you’d say.”

The woman continues her tirade when Peter notices a man in oil stained overalls walking by carrying a toolbox. “I’m sorry,” he interrupts, “but who’s that?”

The woman looks up, “Oh, that’s George. He’s the handyman. You know, gardening, maintenance, whatever the place needs.” 

Peter tilts his head, staring as the man walks into a shed through the window. Maybe Tony wouldn’t talk to a nurse, but that guy couldn’t go without talking for longer than ten minutes before exploding. So maybe he’d talk to a kindred spirit. A mechanic, just like him. 

“Thanks so much for your time ma’am.” Peter says before darting off outside. 

“Excuse me!” he yells, waving his arm around as George turns from inside the shed to poke his head out, “Excuse me! Hi! Could I talk to you for a sec?” Peter asks, only slightly out of breath.

The man looks at him before smiling, “Yeah, sure. How can I help ya?”

“A few months ago, a man named Tony Stark was staying here and I was wondering if you’d ever spoken to him. He was super into building stuff and mechanics too.” 

George’s smile grows fonder. “Tony? Of course I know him. He used to say I was the only man here without an agenda.” he laughs, waving Peter inside the shed where he’s built a little workshop, “Come on in.” 

 

 

Okay, so Tony had lied, when he said there was a case. But he had to get out of there and he didn’t want to say something hurtful- or at least, more hurtful- and God he just really wanted a drink. Just- to hear the scotch splash into the glass over a mound of ice cubes and then swirl it in his palm. To lift it up and smell the sharp scent of the alcohol and then bring it to his lips- Tony shakes his head. 

Fuck. 

He calls Stephen and hates the way his voice sounds. “Hey, I really want to get shit-faced.”

Stephen doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m on my way.” 

They meet at a café, Tony orders them both some coffee and then just feels the need to rack up a credit card debt and gets one of every pasty he thinks looks good in the window. Stephen isn’t impressed, but doesn’t comment on it when Tony comes back with two trays worth of food. “Okay, what happened?” Stephen asks and Tony’s once again flooded with the thought of how much he appreciates Stephen’s candor.

He doesn’t sugar coat anything. He says what he means and means what he says and he cuts to the chase without any of the filler. 

But Tony doesn’t even know how to articulate what he’s feeling on the inside. It’s just a mess. Chaotic. He’s so unused to anyone asking that he doesn’t even know where to go from there. “Nothing is going how I thought it would.” is all he can say.

“Yeah, that’s a familiar concept.” Stephen responds drily.

Tony quirks a grin, lifting his up, “A toast to the unpredictability of life?” he tries to joke but Stephen doesn’t smile back and Tony’s eyes drop. “Yeah, alright. Okay. I just…There’s only been one other time in my life where I felt like a person had made everything…worth it.”

There’s a pain inside his voice, it runs so deep he doesn’t think he can ever find the source, but his eyes are bare and vulnerable when he finds Stephen’s own. “I put…everything into this person and then it all…well, it doesn’t matter. But now, I have Peter. And it’s different from before because he’s a kid. And for the first time in my life I have someone to take care of that isn’t just me and it’s fucking _crazy_ \- because it’s…well, because it’s me.” 

Another self-deprecating grin.

“And I can’t fuck it up. But there are so many ways to fuck it up. And he won’t say it outright, but I know he wants to know what made me an alcoholic, what the fuck happened to make me so incredibly messed up it’s such a giant secret, but…I _can’t_.” his voice breaks and the world feels deathly quiet.

“And I’m feeling all those things again. The helplessness, the futility, the fucking- I feel exposed and I hate it. Because I’m a hypocrite. I told Peter he had to talk about his feelings and deal with things properly when his aunt died but I won’t talk about anything and I can’t think about anything that happened that day because it’s the start of the biggest moment of weakness in my life. I’m Tony Stark.” he says vehemently, “I have one of the smartest brains on the planet and I became an _addict_ because I was _weak_.” 

“Tony.” Stephen says, and this time his voice is strong, “No one is above alcoholism. You can’t hold yourself to a higher standard than the rest of the world. What you can do though, is work through what you’re going through.”

Tony stares. 

“You know I’m not a therapist, but whatever happened in London, it’s tied intricately to how you’re relating to your sobriety right now. You have to get a handle on it.”

Tony’s fingers curl into his hair as he drops his head into his hands. “I don’t _know how_.” 

 

 

Steve clicks on his Bluetooth earpiece as he turns right in his Toyota onto an empty street. “Hey Thor, just wanted to give you an update on the Foster case. I found a lead as to where the special tubing might have come from but we can pick it back up tomorrow morning.” he sighs, “Also, can you _please_ not mention the popsicle incident to Tony, whatever happened to a lifelong partnership?” he clicks off the call, turning left into a smaller residential road where there’s a bit of construction closing the lanes near the end.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the black car behind him. 

It’s a two-lane road and Steve’s going the speed limit, something he knew a lot of cops didn’t do, but he was trying to be an example, not a hypocrite, when the car behind him starts beeping. The beeps get louder and more insistent and Steve narrows his eyes, looking behind him through the rear-view mirror. He waves his arm out the window as though to say go on, thinking the car wants to pass him. 

As expected, the car speeds up until it’s running parallel to him. Something twists in Steve’s stomach. He squints to see through the tinted glass when shots explode all around him and the glass in his rear window shatters. He grunts, ducking his head and trying to shield himself with his arm as bullets rain into the side of his car. But blind, he doesn’t see when his car trips over the construction machinery and his car soars into the air, flipping once before crashing into the pavement. 

Glass shards rain over him and he can feel the blood dripping down his head. His arm is numb. His entire body is throbbing and there’s a burning sensation in his forehead. He tries to unclip his seat-belt to crawl out, but his eyes droop close on their own accord and seconds later, he feels nothing at all. 

 

 

“How can I help you?” George asks, sitting down on one of the benches and gesturing for Peter to do the same.

“Uhh, I know this is kinda weird but, Mr. Stark’s kinda like my guardian now and I came here to find some answers.” 

George looks surprised.

“My aunt May was…she was murdered and Mr. Stark helped me find out who did it and after that, he took me in, but the condition is that is that he has to stay sober and he got a sponsor, who’s super great- I like him a lot- but everyone says that he needs to confront what happened in London or,” Peter stops, taking a giant breath. 

“Easy there son, we have time.”

Peter smiles, something small, before starting again, “He has to deal with the London stuff or else…things might get out of control…” Peter looks away, “I just…I just want to help him like how he helped me- with May- and he won’t talk to me- or anyone- and I thought that maybe if I could find some stuff out on my own; it would make it easier for him to fill in the gaps or at least easier for me to tell someone how to help him best.” he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, “I don’t know…I also just…want to know. Because I- I really care about him. He’s my…” Peter smiles almost hesitantly, “well, he’s important to me.” 

George nods slowly. “He always was a private person.” he agrees, “And I’m sorry to hear about your aunt. That’s terrible.”

Peter smiles his thanks.

“I only want the best for him, but I’m not really sure what you’re asking of me.” George says. 

“I just need to know if he ever mentioned someone named Natasha.” 

George shakes his head, “I’m sorry. He’s never mentioned a Natasha before.” 

Peter doesn’t even try to hide his disappointment, “Oh…alright, sorry to have-”

But George stands up, going to rifle through some things on the shelf, “But the name does sound familiar though.” he digs through a box on the upper most shelf, “Tony left some stuff behind, personal stuff, I held onto them in case he ever wanted to come back for them.” he turns to look at Peter, “Maybe you can pass them along for me.” 

He turns around and hands Peter a stack of letters, worn and well-read, tied with a single piece of twine. On the letter face, a single name. 

Natasha Romanoff. 

His phone rings, it’s Tony. 

 

 

Neither he nor Tony ask each other where they’ve been when they meet at the facility where cars involved in investigations are processed and assessed. But they both love the job and value the work enough to know that whatever issues they had between them, they couldn’t jeopardize the case. Especially not this one. 

Peter is panicked. “Steve was _shot??_ Is he okay?? Where is he!!” 

Fury is calm as ever, the only hint as to his true feelings the tenseness in his jaw and the hard look in his eye. “He’s alright. He’s right there.” he points to where Steve is sitting on a folding chair, pressing a cold press to his bruising right eye, “Right now, we need to focus on which sonofabitch did it.” 

Tony walks over to Steve, gives him a look, “You get hurt, hurt ‘em back.”

Steve shakes his head, then grins, “You get killed, walk it off.” 

“Good man.” Tony spares a moment of softness to clap him on the shoulder before the edge comes back, “Ok, walk us through it.” Tony says, an eerie focus prevalent in everything, right down to the way he moved.

“We’re still waiting on ballistics, but our initial assessment implies this was done with a semiautomatic MP5.” 

Tony nods, “Yeah, that’s a good one for a coward’s drive by. You can hold it one-handed, it has a huge magazine, and it’s pretty accurate in close range.” he turns to Steve, “Lucky for you, your guy was about as talented as a caterpillar.” 

“God bless bad aim.” 

“And air bags.” Tony bounces back. 

Peter bites his lip, standing next to Steve, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Steve softens, smiles, “Right as rain. Don’t worry about me Peter.” 

Peter looks unconvinced but tries to pay attention when Tony walks the perimeter of the car, nodding. “Oaky, so I can tell you right now that from the hole pattern, the bullets were fired in three-round bursts from a rifle barrel, which means whoever’s behind this had access to high-level firearm augmentation.” 

He looks up to give Steve a look, “I really wish you hadn’t jerked the wheel. You would’ve avoided that entire fiasco.”

“Thanks Tony.” Steve drawls, “Your hindsight is really twenty-twenty.” 

Tony lets out an amused breath. “You know, when I was on my way over, I went through all your case files thinking I’d find the guy right away. But I was wrong.”

“Shocking.” Fury says.

Tony ignores him, “I hate to say it, but you’ve done some pretty good stuff in the years. You made a lot of enemies, there’s probably dozens of people who want you dead.”

“ _Mr. Stark_.” Peter says, scandalized.

“It’s a compliment!” 

Peter looks unconvinced, “Well we should still go back and take a closer look.” 

Steve sighs, “No need. I know exactly who did this.” 

They head back to the station to go more in depth and Steve pulls out a thick stack of files, starting with a photo of a non-descript man with a deep glare on his face. “Curtis Bradshaw. Old-school gangster and all-around scumbag. He was the target of a detail I was assigned to a few years back before I came up to Major Crimes.”

“Was he a drug kingpin?” Peter asks.

Steve nods, “At the height of his power, he was selling product all over the city with a crew a hundred strong. They started moving into other gangs’ territories and things started to get messy. Enter us.” 

Tony purses his lips, “Your files said he was suspected of racketeering, torture and murder, but you guys arrested him in twenty-eleven on just a possessing stolen property charge for only three years. And he didn’t even serve the full-sentence.” 

Steve clenches his jaw, “Yeah. I know. Bradshaw was smart. Way smarter than your average drug dealer. He always flew under the radar and had three degrees of separation from him and the crime. That’s why we had a problem.” 

“One of the guys on the detail started getting frustrated, so he stole some heroin from the evidence room and planted it in Bradshaw’s house. Bradshaw gets arrested a day later but then someone calls in an anonymous tip telling Internal Affairs.” 

Peter frowns, a sad understanding in his eyes.

“We had no choice but to cut Bradshaw loose. But I kept working the detail, went undercover, got to know the crew, but I still couldn’t find enough evidence to link Bradshaw to the drugs, so I had to settle for getting him arrested for something smaller.”

“You had to get him off the streets.” Tony nods.

“Yeah. But while he was gone, we started dismantling his empire bit by bit and I managed to put most of his lieutenants away. Six months into his sentence, all he had left were a few corners.” 

“Okay,” Tony says, “so you took down his drug ring, how do you know he shot you though?”

“Because of this.” Steve pulls out another photo of a black car, “This is Bradshaw’s baby. It’s also the car that pulled up beside me.” Tony picks it up to look at it more, “Before he went to prison, he told me he was going to come after me himself. And last night,” Steve frowns, “he finally did.” 

Fury, who had remained quiet for the majority of Steve’s explanation clears his throat. “Obviously I can’t let Steve investigate his own attempted murder, so you’re going to have to do this without him.” 

Tony made a big show, sighing dramatically, “I mean, I _guess_ I could clear up my schedule. Pete?”

Peter flashes him a look, but it’s mostly amused, “We’ll find whoever did this Steve. Don’t worry.” 

“I don’t have a doubt in my mind.” Steve smiles and it hits home to Peter right then, that this home he’d built might be just him and Tony at the crux, but the surrounding orbit of people had become so intricately connected to them that it would feel like having a solar system with no planets. 

And despite Tony’s griping and theatrics, Peter knows from the sharpness in his eyes and the straightness of his shoulders that Tony won’t stop until he finds who hurt his friend. 

He had so few of them after all.

But Steve still looks disappointed, or at least like he’s physically restraining himself from shooting right out of there. Fury pins a knowing eye on him. “Look Rogers, I know it’s hard, but it’s procedure.”

Steve sighs, “Yeah, I know. I’ll walk you guys out.”

As they leave the conference room, a pretty woman in a cop’s uniform and a taller man in similar dress wave at Steve. The woman hands him a note, “Hey, you got a message at the intake desk and since we were going up we thought we’d pass it along.” Steve takes the folded up note and quickly schools his expression as he skims it.

“From someone called Red Star?” she pushes. 

Steve’s smile grows tight, “He’s one of my CI’s. He’s pretty shy. Uses a fake name.”

The woman laughs a little. “Well, I hope the tip’s useful.” she glances at him up and down, “The whole precinct’s heard about what happened. Glad to see you’re okay too.” 

He thanks her and internally groans when he sees Tony’s shit-eating grin. “You two did the dirty.” he sings and Peter yelps, slapping his hands over his ears.

“Gross!”

“Peter come on, it’s only natural.” he turns his attentions back to Steve, “Did you two date?”

The tips of Steve’s ears turn red as he grunts, turning away. “I really don’t see how that’s any of your business. _Officer Reyes_ ,” he says, emphasizing her title, “is an old friend.”

Tony snorts, “Yeah? Then why does her new partner hate you so much?” he pretends to think, “Oh, hm…it might be because he knows you two went it at like rabbits and he wants to get it on with Reyes too. Yeah, that’s probably it.” 

Steve almost shoves him into Thor, “Just go Tony, God.”

He can still hear Tony cackling as he leaves.

 

 

Thor, Peter, and Tony find Bradshaw in an outdoor public basketball court sitting on a picnic bench surrounded by other skeezy looking gangster-types. Loud music blares from one of their phones and upon seeing Thor and his badge, crank it up higher. “Bradshaw!” Thor calls, “I’m Detective Odinson, these two here are consultants, Stark and Parker. We have some questions.” 

Bradshaw looks unimpressed. “Hey.” he says with a jerk of his head, “You’re blocking my view.” 

Tony makes a face, “Pretty sure the view’s worse in prison.” he muses. 

Bradshaw stops. “Whatchu talkin’ bout?” 

“Can you account for your whereabouts between twelve and twelve-thirty today?” Thor asks, flipping his notebook open.

“Why do you need to know?” 

“Because someone tried to kill an old friend of yours.” Tony says, “Remember Steve Rogers? The detective who dismantled your gang?”

Bradshaw smiles, leans back on the table top. “Oh, you know what? I _did_ hear something about that. It was on the news, some guy fired a whole clip into his car and he walked away without a single scratch.” he chuckles, “Well, until he flipped his car anyway.” 

Thor’s voice hardens. “I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you. It was _your_ car that was seen leaving the scene of the crime.”

“Man, you gotta be more specific. I got a few.” 

“It was a 1968 Chevy Biscayne.” Peter pipes in but Bradshaw’s face changes into something angry.

“Get outta here. Someone stole that car from me two days ago.” 

Thor’s expression flattens. “That’s convenient. Did you report it stolen?”

“Damn.” Bradshaw makes a whipping motion with his hand, “I _knew_ I forgot something.” 

Around him, his buddies burst into snickers and Thor’s just about had it. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Where were you at noon today.”

But Bradshaw doesn’t need to reply as his friends all chime in, “Man relax. He was with me today playing cards.”

Beside him, “Nah, you trippin’. He was with me catching a movie.” 

“What are you saying? He was hanging out at my place.” 

Bradshaw leans back, a smug smirk on his face. “It’s your lucky day Detective, you get to pick your favourite one.” 

Thor’s prepped to leave when Tony holds out his arm, staring right at Bradshaw, “Hey, you into gambling?”

He shrugs, “Occasionally, why?”

Tony points to the basketball net. Where he’s standing, he’s about three-quarters of the court down at an odd angle. “If I make that shot with your ball from this spot, you tell us everything you know. I don’t make it, we leave you alone. Deal?”

The crew bursts into laughter and Bradshaw’s so amused he hands over the ball. “Yeah alright white boy. Show us what you got.” 

Tony smiles in that overly pleasant way and Peter feels the exasperation pool into stomach. Oh boy. 

His worries are proven correct when Tony holds the ball like a watermelon before lugging it straight behind him so that it crashes atop the snack store roof and promptly turns away. “You wouldn’t have told us anything anyway.” 

“Hey! My ball!”

 

 

Steve takes a breath, his fist poised in front of a door so worn by the elements the paint has all but chipped away. He knocks and it opens immediately, a man with brown hair tied in a bun and a prosthetic arm with a red star painted on the shoulder smiling at him. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the punk that was bulletproof.” 

Steve flashes a small smile, “Hey Buck.”

Bucky gestures for him to come inside and Steve sets down the bag of groceries he had bought on the tiny kitchen counter. The apartment doesn’t look much different than before. Still had faded green paint on the walls and thrift store furniture pushed up against chipped baseboards. “I guess you heard about what happened then.” 

Bucky gives him a look, crossing his arms, “Yeah, no thanks to you. I saw it on the news and I tried calling you but you weren’t picking up your phone so I left a message at the station.” he holds his hands up, “And I know you don’t like me calling there, so I used the code.” 

Steve sighs, “Your old gang name isn’t exactly a code. Red Star?”

“Hey, no one there would know it. And I was worried.” 

Steve bows his head, nodding. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry. Between everything that happened it was hard to get in touch.” 

Bucky knocks him in the arm gently, “Yeah. I get it. So,” he says, “the shooter, what did he use?” 

“A modified MP5.” 

Bucky’s face falls as he plays with a strand of hair poking out from his bun. “You know…I still know people on the streets. I could ask around, see who had access to that kinda stuff.” 

Steve’s face hardens. “Yeah you could. But then you’d violate your parole.” 

“Parole? You think that’s anywhere near as important as making sure the person who attacked my brother is put behind bars?” 

“It’s not worth you putting yourself at risk Bucky.” Steve stands up, a tacit sign that he wanted the topic over and done with, “I brought some groceries, just a few things to tide you over.” he tries to be subtle about it as his eyes hang slowly around every inch of the living room. 

Bucky is quiet for a moment. “I appreciate you bringing me food, but you can stop doing that.”

Steve looks up. 

Bucky’s mouth flattens. 

“You’re not my parole officer Steve. You don’t have to case my place.”

“I’m not- I’m not casing out your place.”

“Just admit it.”

Steve sighs. “I just want to look out for you.”

Bucky crosses his arms, “I’m the older one here remember? I do the looking out for you. I always have.” 

Steve’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t say anything. “Look Steve, I know you’re embarrassed about me. Your adopted brother being an ex-con and you being a cop, but…” he shrugs, sad and slow, “that’s the way the dice rolled and if I could take it all back…” 

Steve heads to the door, “Try to stay out of trouble okay?” 

He doesn’t look back. 

 

 

Back at the brownstone, Tony and Peter aren’t exactly making deductive leaps and bounds. Tony’s staring at a mugshot photo of Bradshaw, massaging his temples. “You know, when Steve said this guy was smart, I didn’t think he was serious.”

“Well that’s on you, isn’t it?” Peter jabs, combing through Bradshaw’s arrest file.

“Oh hah hah, but seriously. He never came within a thousand yards of the drugs he was getting around and he just let some of his inner circle run the show.” Tony leans back in his chair, spinning idly, “Honestly, I get why the detail planted evidence on him. He’s about as easy to grab as a prison soap bar.” 

Peter wrinkles his nose, ignoring his mentor. “Ok, if he’s that smart, why’d he go after Steve himself? Isn’t that kinda dumb? He let his crew do everything else anyway.”

“Revenge Peter.” Tony’s voice drops, “That makes the smartest people idiots. But then again,” he lets out a breath, “all emotions seem to do that.” 

Peter gives him a look, remembers the letters in his room upstairs. He wants to ask, he wants to so desperately. But now is not the time. Now it’s the case, and Steve, and protecting their friend. 

“I’m sorry you had to cancel your plans with Ned though.” Tony remarks.

“What? How did you-” Peter breaks off, what’s the point in even asking?

Tony doesn’t even look away from the screen, “You seemed excited last night when you were typing like a crazy person on your phone and I know that they’re replaying the old Star Wars trilogy at that indie theatre near here today.” he shrugs, “You texted someone when we came home and you looked a little disappointed. I just took a leap that it was Ned.” 

Peter rolls his eyes, “Wow, we love the fake modesty.”

Tony grins, “That _is_ my MO.”

“It’s okay though. They’re playing them all week and it’s never taken us too long to wrap up a case anyway. Plus, this is way more important. It’s _Steve_ , he’s like,” Peter hesitates here, becausehe hasn’t even said this to _Tony_ yet and it feels…well, “he’s our friend.” he says instead, So…” 

God that was super lame. 

But Tony takes it in stride. “Yeah, he’s a good detective. Definitely better to work with than the rest.”

“Mr. _Stark_.” Peter groans, “You like him. Just admit it.”

“Honestly, I’d rather die.” 

Peter raises an eraser to chuck at him and Tony raises his arms defensively, “But! It’d take forever to find someone to replace him so let’s just try and save his life hm?” 

“You’re unbelievable.” 

It infuriates him how Tony preens as though it were a compliment.

 

A few blocks down, a woman is leaving her house, raised slightly so she has to take a flight of stairs down to the ground. A man- tall, black, wearing a jean jacket- is slumped against the side of her home, sitting on the last step. The woman pauses, then sighs. “Sir? Excuse me, you can’t sit there.”

The man doesn’t respond. 

She sighs again, stomping down the steps to yell at him more forcefully when she stops cold. The man’s eyes are vacant, locked in a horror she can’t imagine. In his chest, a single bullet hole. 

 

When the police arrive on the scene, Tony and Peter aren’t far behind. Except Tony’s just…a tad more unconventional. 

He presses right up next to the victim, identified as Curtis Bradshaw, sitting next to him on the step, taking on his exact posture and expression, staring into the distance. Officers Reyes and her partner stare at him with barely disguised confusion. Peter chuckles awkwardly, “Yeahhhh, he uhh, he has a process. It’s weird. But effective!!” 

Tony gets up suddenly, turning to sniff the body and then peer closely into his eyes. He turns around nodding at them, “It’s Reyes right?”

She nods, like she isn’t quite sure what to expect. “Yeah…and you’re the…consultant?”

“The one and only.” Tony flashes his teeth with some jazz hands. 

“Yeah we briefly met the other day, at the station. We have a mutual friend in common, golden boy Steve Rogers?” he sees the flash of recognition in her eyes, “Although, I’ve never slept with him. But I’m not really sure he’d be that fun? Seems too vanilla for me.”

Reyes’ eyes bug out as her partner steps in front of her defensively, “Hey. Show some respect.” 

“Buddy,” Tony drawls, “you’re such an extra in this story I don’t even have an _idea_ as to what your name is. Probably something third-wheelish like Mark?” he turns to him, “Oh please let it be Mark.” 

The guy looks like he’s prepped for a fight when Tony lifts up a hand, “Actually, no wait, zip it.” He bends down to where some wet cardboard has been stomped on and crumpled, bringing his nose closer to it and smelling. 

His expression changes and when Nick Fury strolls into the crime scene, he bypasses the officers to head straight to him. “Hey.” Fury greets, “If you wanna pull some of your mumbo-jumbo deduction stuff right about now, that’d be great. The media’s already spreading the killer cop angle.” 

“Oh?”

“Retribution for what happened to Steve.”

Tony’s face darkens. “Well, they wouldn’t be far off.”

Fury stops, staring at him hard. “What are you talking about.”

“Well, according to all the evidence. A cop _did_ do this. Specifically, Steve.” 

Fury’s eyes harden. “Excuse me?” 

 

 

They head to Steve’s apartment, it’s a nice airy place, drawings hanging on the wall and some dishes still in the sink. Tony hands him his phone right away, it’s a picture of the cardboard. Steve’s confused. “It’s a boot print.” he states, looking at Tony like he wants him to elaborate. 

Peter hangs back, still unable to process any of what’s going on. Fury stands across from him, sitting on Steve’s couch with his hands clasped in his lap and back hunched. 

“It’s a size ten boot print. Pergotti brand.” Tony says quietly.

“And?”

“I found this print in the exact spot the killer would have had to stand at to shoot Bradshaw and kill him at that angle. As soon as I saw it, I remembered those Pergottis you always wear with your dark grey suits and how I always tell you to get new ones but you say that-”

“Well-worn is always better.” Steve finishes. 

He’s quiet. Reserved. He understands now, why they’re all here. 

“I’m a size ten, I wear the shoes.” he says, he looks at Fury, “But do you really suspect me of _killing_ this guy?”

“No. We don’t.” Fury says firmly, “But everyone out there thinks a cop did it. We just need to get ahead of this.”

Steve’s lips pull into a thin line. “You guys already know I’ve had two uniforms posted at my door all day and all night in case Bradshaw came in here.”

Tony looks almost regretful when he says, “Yeah, I know. But I know _you_. And just from looking at this place I can find six ways out of here without alerting what’s-their-faces.” 

Steve takes a step closer, “Tony, I know we got off on the wrong foot before, but look me in the eye and tell me you think I could kill someone in cold blood.”

Tony looks him in the eye, then cracks a grin. “Nah, you? Too much of a goody two shoes.” his voice lowers again, “But that’s my point, when people other than us start asking questions, you better have answers.”

“Well who’s asking?”

Fury sighs, gets up. “Rogers, as of now, you’re our only suspect. The boot print combined with a possible motive and the fact the guy was shot with the police academy method means I have to put you on administrative duty.”

Steve throws his hands up, twisting around to pace. “I can’t believe this. I _didn’t do it_.” 

As Fury talks to Steve, Tony slips away, walking around the apartment, peeking his head into every crevice, looking for something, but Peter isn’t quite sure what. But when he steps out of from the hallway, Peter can see him pocketing something. 

“Listen.” Fury says, commanding to the point where everyone in the room stops, “We’re going to play by the books on this one. You’re going to step aside, we’re going to do everything right. And then we’re going to find who really did this so that no one can say anything about you. That clear?”

The room is tense before Steve nods, teeth clenched, “Yeah. Okay.” 

On their way out, Peter can’t help but touch Steve’s shoulder, “Hey, for the record, we never thought you could do it. And we’ll definitely find who did.”

 

 

Tony sends Peter out on a food run a while after they get home, and when he comes back, Peter hears gun shots firing in his home. He bursts through the doors, throwing the bags on the floor only to run into the living room and see Tony, standing with a gun shooting a dummy in the chest. “WHAT THE F-” a gunshot drowns out his words before Tony notices him, taking his noise canceling head-phones off.

“Oh hey, you brought Italian, perfect.” He says, as though there isn’t smoke coming out of a barrel in his hand right now. 

“Mr. Stark!!” Peter screeches, “You can’t shoot guns in here!! What are you--!!??”

“I had to run a ballistics exam and this was the fastest way to do it.” Tony answers, as though that explained everything.

“A ballistics- Mr. Stark, there are _labs_ for that. We could get arrested for even _shooting_ a gun in her oh my God.” he collapses on the dining table chair before his head shoots up, “Not to mention how freaked I was!! I thought someone had shot you!” 

Tony looks a bit more remorseful then, setting his head-phones on the shelf. “In my defense, I calculated your route to take twelve minutes longer.” 

Peter blushes, looking away. “Ok, well, it’s fine. I guess. Let’s just-”

But there was no way Tony was letting that go, “Excuse me, what’s that face?”

“There’s no face!” Peter’s flustered though, that much is obvious, “What about you?? Why didn’t you give the gun to the police to run it?” 

“You first lover boy.” Tony teases and Peter frowns, burying his face into his arms.

A part of him is grateful that they’re able to fall back into their banter and routine even after al the awkwardness between them. 

The other part just wants Tony to never talk to him ever again. 

“It’s _nothing_. And I don’t want to say anything because you’re just going to go all PI on me and stalk her and that’s the _last_ thing I want.” 

“Can you _please_ just spit it out before I die from how overly high school this all is.”

Peter glares before letting his head fall down again. “There’s this girl, Liz, and she works at the restaurant as a waitress and she’s really pretty and smart and cool and she rushed my order for me which was so nice obviously- but it makes sense because _she’s_ so nice and-” he looks up to where Tony’s looking one breath away from laughing before yelling a quick, “Mr. Stark!”

“I’m sorry! I can’t help it! It’s all so disgustingly cute I feel the weirdest urge to take a polaroid picture of you right now.” Tony pulls out his phone, the next best thing, and takes several gleeful shots of an embarrassed Peter trying to run away. 

“Well you definitely cheered me up though.” Tony says, glancing at the gun he’d placed on the table. 

Peter stops, looks at him with curious eyes. “To answer your question, I couldn’t turn the gun in to the police because they’re the last people who should get it.” 

Peter walks back in, wary. “Why? Where did you find it Mr. Stark?” but his eyes are sad like he already knows. 

 

Steve looks up at the sign, Serenity Florist, and waits outside for his brother to emerge. “Hey, I’m glad you came.” Bucky greets, his florist apron, an uncharacteristic pop of purple in his otherwise muted wardrobe.

“You said it was important.” Steve answers. 

Bucky almost looks excited, “I asked around for you-”

“You did _what?_ Bucky-!”

“Just wait a second Steve, I managed to get a name for you. Tico Bettis. He just got out and he’s real good with the MP5s. If he’s the one who tweaked that gun, he might know who bought it.” Steve doesn’t say anything and Bucky frowns, “You’re welcome.”

“Bucky,” Steve groans, a hand at his temple, “you’re not supposed to be talking to those guys anymore.”

“All I did was call a couple of friends because my _brother_ got _shot at_.” 

“Bucky, you don’t think the NYPD doesn’t know about Tico? We already talked to him and five other guys just like him. This isn’t worth the risk of you going back into prison. _Prison_ Buck.” 

Bucky flinches. “I wanted to help you.”

Steve shakes his head, “I just wish you’d help yourself.” 

But Bucky’s getting riled, “Can’t you understand that I’m trying to do something that matters?”

“Keeping yourself out of trouble matters!” Steve argues, voice picking up right along with him. 

“No. It doesn’t. Not when the alternative is seeing you get hurt. Till the end of the line remember?”

Steve’s voice is cold. “Yeah. That stopped mattering the second you left me to go to prison.”

 

The doorbell rings a while later, Peter goes to open it, almost hesitant. Steve stands outside with his phone, “Tony texted me.” 

“Yeah, I know. Come in.” 

Steve is unimpressed the moment he walks into the living room. “Tony, tell me those aren’t bullet holes in that dummy.”

“You want to make a liar of me?” Tony retorts lightly.

“You know I could arrest you for that right?”

“That’s what I said!” Peter chimes in, “But he has a good reason.” 

“And what’s that?”

Peter hesitates for just a second, “Someone’s trying to frame you for Bradshaw’s murder.” 

Steve rubs his eye, sits down at the table with them and takes a breath. “Guys, listen. I appreciate you trying to help me out but trying to frame me with a boot print anyone could buy is probably the worst try at that I’ve ever seen.” 

Tony’s face is grave, “If it was just that, I wouldn’t have called you here. But as it happens, our framer’s a little smarter. The boots were just part A. Part B was the gun.”

Steve tenses. “What gun?”

Tony slides over the weapon and Steve’s expression doesn’t change. “Where’d you get that?” 

“Your house.” Steve’s eyes widen, “When I was walking around, I smelled gun residue, traced it back to the air vent in your bathroom, and found this nine-millimeter tucked inside.” 

Steve leans back, a horrified disbelief in his eyes. “I’ve never seen that gun before.”

“Yeah, we know.” Peter says, “The problem though, is that this is the gun that killed Bradshaw. Mr. Stark confirmed it with his test.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow. “But it’s okay. We have a plan.”

 

 

Fury has them all in his office the next day. “Ok, so the lab confirmed this was the gun used on Bradshaw.”

Tony pretends to be surprised. “That’s some killer instinct,” Fury praises, “thinking to fish around in that dumpster. Great thinking Stark.” 

But despite the flattery, Tony can see the suspicion lurking in its depths. Fury’s one of the smarter men he’s ever met, clever as a fox and about as trusting as the devil. He probably suspected _something_ , but they all knew it was best to keep him out of it. For his own sake. 

Tony smirks, “What can I say?” 

Peter resists the urge to sigh. What a line. 

“Well, it’s good that you found it. What’s less good is that there are no prints. So technically,” he turns to Steve, “you’re still a suspect.” 

When they leave, Tony is all but on Steve’s case. “Have you never lied before ever??”

Steve hunches inward. “I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, no one likes it.”

“Well it’s different for you.” Steve retorts quickly.

Tony stops, “Why? Because I’m not a ‘real cop?’ I respect Fury too you know.” 

Steve hangs his head, properly chastised. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry it’s just- I want to be out there, pounding the pavement. And instead I’m stuck here being a suspect in a crime we all know I didn’t do.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Obviously. When I found that gun, I took it for two reasons. One, only an actual idiot would leave the gun in their house after committing a murder and you’re definitely not an idiot.”

Steve’s lip quirks up.

“The second thing is that I know Fury likes you. He likes you a lot. And I didn’t want him to have to open up a real case against you, his little protégé. If he found that gun, his hands would be tied and he’d have to take you to IA.” Tony makes a face, “And the last goddamn thing I wanna do is jump through their bureaucratic bullshit to solve what’s obviously not your crime.”

Steve lets out a breath, almost amused, a small smile curling across his face. “You always had a way with words Tony.”

Tony flashes him a cocky grin.

“Alright, so what now?”

“First, I need to look around your place again and you need to tell me who else has keys to your place.”

Steve tilts his head.

“Steve there were zero, and I mean _zero_ signs of a break-in. Someone had to use a key or they picked the lock. But I doubt that. Usually people leave marks.”

“You don’t.” Steve says pointedly.

“Well I’m not people.” 

Steve hands over his key, “Alright, you go do your thing, I’ll try and make a bigger suspect list. I’ll call you if I find anything.”

Tony grips his arm before taking the key, “Good luck.” 

 

Steve feels almost like he’s dying. There are a few universal truths he knows. One, his momma loved him, more than anything in the world, and when she left it, it was the most painful thing for both of them. Two, there was good and there was bad in the world and he had a duty to do good. Three, when he had nothing, he had Bucky. 

When Steve’s mom died, he was thirteen and in a bad way. He had no relatives and was terrified of being sent away to a foster home. Bucky took one look at him before grabbing his hand and hauling him back home where he announced to his mom they were going to adopt him and that was that. 

It wasn’t as easy obviously. Bucky’s family had to prove a relationship, file tedious amounts of paperwork, go to court, watch as Steve bounced around in two foster homes until the process was complete, but when it was done, they showed him the bunkbed they had bought, now crammed neatly into Bucky’s room and announced it as his own.

It was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him. 

And just like how it always was, Steve and Bucky grew up together. And it was great. Until Bucky’s mom got sick too. And everything changed. 

How could it not?

He calls Bucky over to the station, greets him at his desk before ushering him into the conference room for some privacy.

“Hey, what was so important you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” Bucky asks, concern evident from his crossed arms and wary expression.

Steve takes a breath. “I wanted to talk to you about Curtis Bradshaw.” 

Bucky’s face contorts in mock surprise, “And here I was thinking I wasn’t allowed to talk about that kinda stuff.” his voice tightens, “You made that pretty clear the other day, remember?” 

Steve rubs his temples, shoulders tensing, “Listen- I know- but, someone’s trying to frame me for murder.” Bucky’s cavalier attitude disappears, “The drive-by was a cover to give me a motive to kill him. They made it look like Bradshaw did it so when they murdered him, they could pin it on me without raising too many questions. It helped that they planted the gun at my house.”

“What? Stevie…I can’t believe it.” Bucky looks pale, sitting down on the chair and shaking his head. “Do you know who did it?”

Steve hates the universe, a little bit. 

Maybe a lot.

“Yeah. We have some leads. The guy knew where I lived, he knew how to get in, he wears Pergotti boots…” Steve catches Bucky’s eyes, “just like the ones I gave you when you first got out.”

Bucky’s face twists in disbelief, he shoots up, head shaking like he isn’t even aware he’s doing it, “You think I did it? You really think I could do that?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Steve says quickly.

“You didn’t have to.” 

Bucky looks around, “That why you brought me down here? I was surprised you know. Thought you’d be too embarrassed to bring your criminal brother down to your job. But now I get it. What? You wanted me to confess so you could have me arrested?” 

“Buck, you stayed with me when you first got out. You had a copy of my key.”

“I can’t believe this-”

“Can you blame me? Things have been bad between us for a long time Bucky.” Steve’s fist clenches.

Bucky takes a step closer. “No, things became bad when you became a cop.”

Steve snorts derisively, “Oh, what? Should I have joined HYDRA with you? Selling coke to kids on street corners?”

Bucky’s jaw tightens, “I sacrificed everything for you Steve.”

“The only thing you sacrificed were the years you could have shaved off your sentence if you had rolled on your friends when you got arrested. Years you could have spent with me.” he looks away, “With mom.” 

Bucky’s looking at him with the most betrayed eyes, the most ruined. 

“If you know anything, now is the time to tell me so I can help you.” Steve says and Bucky takes one look at him before throwing open the door.

“Bucky! Come on, Bucky!” 

Bucky turns around, takes one look at Steve before punching him straight in the jaw. Immediately, the precinct runs at him, yelling at him to stand down but Steve stumbles up, waving them away. “It’s okay. It’s fine. He’s my brother.”

But Bucky doesn’t say anything, just shoves off the cop holding onto him and stalks off. 

Steve doesn’t blame him.

He wishes he could take back everything. 

 

 

Back in Steve’s apartment, Tony’s making a fuss in the bathroom. Peter pokes his head in, “Nothing still?”

“How can there be nothing?! We know the killer came in here! You too??” 

Peter nods, “Yeah I’m pretty bummed too. Maybe we need to look at this through a different angle.” 

Tony lets his head roll around as he collapses against the wall in a fit of drama. “I’m listening.”

“Well…” Peter cups his chin, rubbing his finger under the ridge of his nose, “what if…what if we have the motive all wrong? What if it isn’t about Steve but about Bradshaw?” 

Tony raises a brow.

“Well he runs a gang right, and they’re super weak after Steve went after Bradshaw so hard back in the day. What if someone in his gang was angry about it? And wanted revenge on Bradshaw for not being smart enough to protect his people and mad at Steve for destroying his group, so he thought he could get two birds with one stone.”

Tony looks thoughtful, rolling the theory over in his head, “I mean…it’s possible. We’d have to go back and look through his known associates again, maybe something will crop up if we look at it in a new light.”

He gets up but pauses, “But how does that explain the break-in? How would some rando know where Steve lives and have a key?” 

“Superintendent?”

Tony sighs, “I told you to stop watching crime shows didn’t I? It clutters your brain!”

“It’s not clutter! It’s ingenious!”

“Peter, I’m so not arguing with you about this again.”

The two end up back at home, the case having gone cold as of then, waiting for Thor to return with some info after interviewing Bradshaw’s underlings. And Peter knows it isn’t the best time but he also can’t stop thinking about it and Natasha’s name keeps ringing around over and over in his head, the letters feel almost like they’re burning him even though they’re in a bag faraway.

Unable to contain himself anymore, he goes to his room to get them, walking down the stairs slowly, like he’s trying to build up courage. “Mr. Stark?” he calls.

“In the living room.” 

Peter bites his lip, sliding his feet across the floor until he’s standing in front of his mentor, hands behind his back. “I uhh, I have something for you.”

“What’s up kid?” Tony’s face is open but as soon as he sees the letters, his expression drops, “You’ve been to Hemdale.” 

“Yeah, the maintenance guy saved them for you.”

Tony takes them, his lip only twisting the slightest bit when he sees Natasha’s name before his gaze snaps up, “You find all the answers you wanted?” he asks, emotionless. 

“No. I didn’t read them.” 

Tony looks surprised before he masks it.

“Self-control. Not really my style but I guess you have other role models.” 

“I wanted to. Really bad. But...I care about you too much to break your trust like that. And if I’m going to find out about your life, I want it to be from you. Not a guy with a box of letters.” 

Peter steps back, “So, I’m not going to ask you anymore. About Natasha. Not unless you want to.” 

“Great. Glad we sorted that out.” And then Tony gets up and stuffs the letters into the blender, shredding them on high.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter cries, running towards him but the letters are already ripped apart, “What are you doing!”

“I left those at Hemdale because I didn’t want them anymore.” 

“But! But they were important!”

“Hey.” Tony points a finger, “You said you wouldn’t talk about it anymore.” 

And with Peter silenced, Tony turns the blender off, picks it up, and dumps the contents into the trash. 

 

Steve’s standing outside Bucky’s door, this time with zero hesitation. He knocks hard, waits, but no footsteps. He sighs, hanging his head against the wood. “Bucky? I know you’re in there. I can hear the TV playing. Listen, I came here to apologize. I was wrong and I-” his fingers curl around the knob and he turns it, mostly just to try, but it’s unlocked.

Steve stops, looks down at it with something like an edge creeping up his spine. “Bucky?” he says again, but when he walks into the apartment, the first thing he sees is Bucky’s body, sprawled on the ground, blood staining the back of his shirt.

“Bucky!”

Steve runs to him, turning him over to see a bullet wound right in his back. His eyes aren’t open. “No, no, oh please no, Bucky don’t do this to me, don’t-” the words die on his lips.

Next to Bucky’s head, the words WAS NOT STEVE were written in blood. Bucky’s finger still on the ‘E.’ Steve can’t breathe, he can’t even function. But he hears Bucky’s jagged breathing, sees the shattered window across from him and inside him is an instinct he can’t curb and he pushes Bucky on his back, applying pressure to his wound with one hand as he dials 911 on the other. “This is Detective Steve Rogers, badge number 42048. I need a bus at 73 Parsons Street. Male shot at scene.” his voice staggers, “Please be advised, the victim is my brother.”

He hangs up the phone, pressing both hands down on the jacket he’s stripped off to staunch the bleeding. And for the first time in a long time, Steve sits down, and cries. 

 

 

Tony can’t really believe it. “We were just at his place and I wasn’t able to tell he had a brother _at all_.” 

Peter gives him a look but plays along. “Well, he did say they weren’t close.”

“Yeah. But _still_.” 

They’re standing in Bucky’s apartment, examining the crime scene as CSU and other officers mark down the relevant aspects. Tony circles around but always comes back to the writing in blood on the floor. Peter looks at him, and for some reason, his heart aches.

“This is so sad.” he whispers.

“Yeah, it seems like whoever was trying to kill him was trying to add it to the frame job. It was admirable what his brother did.” Tony grits his teeth. “This is my fault. I foiled their first frame up when I turned in the gun so they had to try again. And even now, Steve’s brother stopped them again.”

“Hey.” Peter says sharply, “None of this is your fault, what are you even saying? Plus, there’s no guarantee it’s the same shooter. Bucky was a convict. He could’ve been part of something else.” 

Tony shakes his head, “If it was gang related, odds are, he would’ve known who it was, so why waste your dying message on a message about your brother if it was your own trouble? No.” Tony looks grave, “Barnes knew exactly what this was about.”

Peter looks unconvinced so Tony ushers him to the broken window. He points downward at the slight patch of dirt and weeds. “If that’s not another partial Pergotti footprint there, then I’m the worst detective alive. This was definitely a frame up job.” 

Peter squints. “You can seriously tell that from all the way up here?”

“You know I can.” Tony looks at him almost like he wants validation and there’s little anymore, that Peter wouldn’t do for him.

“Alright. Okay. Shouldn’t we tell the Captain then, about our framer theory?”

“Yeah, probably. But the last time I did something without Steve knowing, his brother got shot. I hate to say it, but we should probably talk to him first.” 

“Okay.” Peter says softly, “Okay.”

 

They’re in the hospital where Bucky’s being treated and Peter’s been sent off to grab some coffee. After Tony brings Steve up to date, all Steve does is just rub his temples, elbows digging into this thighs where they’re seated on the waiting room chairs. “Don’t worry Tony. I’ll tell Fury. You were only trying to look out for me and him. But,” he tries to smile, “he’ll probably take it better coming from me anyway.” 

Peter comes back with the coffees, handing them all out and it’s no sooner that Steve takes it before he shoots up again, unable to sit still. “It shouldn’t be taking so long, they said they’d be done twenty minutes ago.”

“Steve,” Tony says, voice calm, “he’s going to be alright.”

Peter nods, maybe too much, “You saved his life Steve. He’s going to make it through. Thanks to you.” His eyes are wide and genuine and Steve has to look away before that familiar need to dissolve comes back.

“Yeah, he better.” he shakes his head, scoffing, “I mean, if there’s anyone who could take a bullet to the back and live, it’s Bucky. Idiots can’t die.” he smiles, lost in a childhood memory no one else could see.

“Well, that works in his favor then.” Tony jokes.

“Yeah, well, ruined the last three years of his life didn’t it?”

Peter looks at him with empathetic eyes, “What do you mean?”

Steve sighs, sitting back down, thumbing the rim of his coffee cup. “Bucky and I have been friends since we were kids and then we became brothers, so when he left to prison, I guess I just never forgave him for staying in as long as he did.”

Tony leans his head back against the wall. “He got a plea deal.” 

“In a way.” Steve sounds tired, bone deep tired, “After he went in, I cashed in a big favor to get him an early parole hearing, but that punk wouldn’t cooperate. All they wanted was for him to identify the gang’s drug hookup and the worst part is the cops already _knew_ who it was. But Bucky never did. So,” he shrugs, “he didn’t talk, so he didn’t get his time reduced.” 

Peter stops, eyes squinting the way they did when he was thinking hard, “It was you.” he turns to Steve like there was a revelation in his eyes, “You were the one who called the anonymous tip that exposed the evidence planting in the Bradshaw detail.”

Steve looks at him, “What?”

“I was looking at Bradshaw’s files again today and I noticed that his first parole hearing was June two-thousand-and-nine, one month after Mickey Hudson was busted for planting evidence.” 

Steve looks away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

But Peter knows he’s right and the momentum helps him fill in the gaps, “It makes sense. When we went to your apartment, everything was perfect and in its place and your frustration with your brother comes from the fact that he wouldn’t tell the truth-”

Steve gets up, on the defense, “I don’t see why this matters-”

But Tony’s voice stops him cold, “It _matters_. Did you earn the favor by telling your boss or not?”

Steve looks like he wants to argue or maybe just walk away, but the irritability combined with the emotional turbulence of the day gets to him and he just explodes instead, “I wasn’t going to let some morally backward cop plant evidence. It wasn’t right. Someone had to speak up. So what?” 

“So what??” Tony is incredulous, “Steve, obviously planting evidence ruined the case and isn’t right but so what?? This means we’ve been looking at the wrong pool of suspects all along. Peter was right, we needed a new angle, and this is it.” 

Peter nods, understanding immediately where he was going, “Mr. Stark’s right. Anyone in your old detail would’ve had the skills and the motive to do this. They’d want revenge.” 

Steve shakes his head. “No way. No one knew.” 

“You and I both know information is a leaky faucet.” Tony stands up. 

He catches Peter’s eye, jerking his head, “Come on. Steve, wait here for your brother. We’re going to catch a murderer.” 

 

There’s a knock on the conference room door. “Come in.” Fury calls, as Tony and Peter take a seat next to him.

Officer Reyes looks confused, “You wanted to see me?” she asks, closing the door behind her. 

“Yeah.” Fury says, voice devoid of any warmth, “Have a seat.” 

“Did I do something wrong?” 

“Actually,” Tony chimes in, “you did a lot wrong. Shooting up Steve’s car for one,” he starts counting off on his fingers, “killing Bradshaw, planting the murder weapon in Steve’s apartment, oh and we can’t forget you shooting his brother. That’s cold by the way.” 

Reyes looks deeply offended, lip twisting. “Excuse me??” 

“I took another look at the Bradshaw detail who worked with Mickey Hudson in oh-nine, and shockingly, guess who was on it too.” Tony looks pointedly at her. 

She scoffs, “Yeah and?” 

“Well, you looked up to Hudson, respected him.” Fury says, “He even wrote you a recommendation letter when you applied to vice.”

“Yeah.” she shrugs, “He was a good guy.” 

“Well IA disagrees with you.”

“The rat squad? Why would I give a damn what they think?”

Tony makes a mock sad face, “Aww, don’t say that. We have it on good authority that you’re dating someone from the rat squad. An Evan Charles?” Reyes goes quiet, “I mean, to be fair to you, it’s obvious you’re only dating him for info.” 

“Anyway, when IA was first investigating Hudson, they suspected you were involved too. But obviously you denied it and so did he! Because why would he implicate you when he was just gonna kill himself anyway. But still, the department never let it go and you had a black mark on your file since.”

“You applied to vice three times. And you got rejected just as many times and it was probably the last straw right? So you just had to know, who tipped off IA to the evidence planting? Who ruined your life? Besides you obviously.” Tony drawls. 

Reyes glares.

“It must have broken your heart when you found out it was Steve. A guy you had dated on the detail. A guy whose house key you still had.” 

“He didn’t even know you were involved by the way.” Peter says quietly, “When we called him to update him, he was shocked.” 

Reyes doesn’t respond, but she turns to Fury, venom in her voice, “You have a problem with me Captain, you can take it up with my union rep.”

“We don’t have a problem.” Fury says easily, “We’re arresting you actually.”

Reyes is shocked. “ _What?_ ”

“We searched your apartment,” Tony says, “We found the Pergotti boots you used to plant footprints that you knew would lead back to Steve. You tried to set them on fire in your garage, but the metal shoe lace eyelets didn’t burn.” 

Tony shrugs, “But okay fine, you want more evidence. Two months ago, you arrested a man suspected of selling untraceable and unregistered firearms, except, super weird thing, none of them were ever sized during your arrest. At least not officially. The guns involved with this case were matched with ballistics reports from Denny Vargas’ crimes. You know, the same guy you arrested with the guns that were never found.” 

“Is it just a coincidence? Or did you take his guns?” Tony stands back, hands flared. 

Reyes doesn’t say anything. 

But then again, she doesn’t need to.

 

 

Steve watches the news of Reyes’ arrest from Bucky’s hospital room. He reaches for the remote to turn it off, unsure of what he’s feeling about it at all. Bucky of course, finds it insane.

“You really have the worst taste in girls.” 

Steve snorts, “Shut up Bucky. You’re one to talk.”

“Hey hey hey, the worst thing that ever happened to me was little Melissa from down the block who slashed my bike tires in the seventh grade.”

“Oh my God I forgot about Melissa.”

“Wish I could.” Bucky jokes.

It’s quiet, after that.

“Buck…” Steve starts, “About earlier I-”

Bucky raises a hand, “It’s okay.” 

But Steve shakes his head, “No. No it isn’t. I never should have said that you. You didn’t deserve it. I know things have been…not the same between us, but I should have trusted you.” 

Bucky looks at him. “I know you’re mad about the parole hearing. And I’m sorry. But I thought if I talked, they’d send someone after you. And I knew you’d just say you could handle it. But I’ve been trying to protect you from bullies your whole life.” 

Steve’s eyes widen and he has to look away to get himself back in control. “You could’ve told me.”

“How stressed out would you have been if you knew?” Bucky says gently and it hits Steve suddenly, that maybe the world was more than just monochrome. 

That maybe good and bad intersected on another plane where things were complicated and hard. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just looks at him with that same gentle expression Steve’s relied on his whole life. “The message you wrote. On the floor…”

Bucky gives him a look. “You told me someone was trying to frame you and then hours later I got shot. Wasn’t hard to connect the dots.”

“Yeah but, I had just accused you of murder and a frame-up and you were shot in the back. You had no way of knowing it wasn’t me.” Steve’s voice breaks and Bucky reaches out a hand, waiting for Steve to take it.

“I didn’t need to see to know it wasn’t you. Family sticks together. Even when they fight. Even when they disappoint you.”

Steve smiles, something watery and sad, “Till the end of the line right?”

Bucky grins. “Don’t forget it you little punk.” 

 

 

When Peter and Tony get home, it’s late and they’re exhausted. Peter barely gets out of the shower and falls into his bed when there’s a knock on his door. Usually Tony just barges in, so Peter already knows it’s serious. Tony stands in the doorway, the light casting shadows across his face. 

“She died.” 

Peter sits up, his heart pounding in his throat, voice quiet, “Natasha?” 

Tony nods, looking faraway. “She was a ballerina. We were close. Obviously, I didn’t take it well.” 

Peter wants to say more but Tony whirls around with a quiet “Good night.” 

There’s only silence when he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo I already wrote the next chapter and I just wanna warn y'all that it's pretty emotionally devastating yeehaw but it's also a double feature so hopefully it's done being formatted by the time you guys finish!


	8. H

A man in a leather jacket unzips a long case in an apartment with a shooting competition playing in the background on the TV. He pulls out long metal rods, connecting them together. The announcer calls out a perfect bulls-eye and the man swears, taking a swig from his beer. “Goddamn Germans.” 

He twists the final piece together pushing what is a giant tripod device in the middle of the living room. “Are you seeing this shit? It’s bullshit.” he complains, turning to the man writhing on the ground, hands and feet bound in zip-ties, a rag stuffed into his mouth. 

The man is grunting, trying to shimmy on his back out the door. The man sighs, shaking his head, finishing the tri-pod set up instead of bothering with his victim. The man in the leather jacket strings up a metal cable in the centre of the tripod, a hook attached to the end. He saunters towards the man on the floor and he can hear the desperate garbles pleading for his life. But the man in the jacket ignores him, clipping the hook around the zip-ties on his ankles.

The man resists the whole time, “No! No!” he mumble-yells, squirming and twisting to escape but the man in the jacket has done this before. 

He knows how this goes.

The man in the jacket turns the crank, pulling the cable upwards so his victim dangles upside down in the air. He pulls out a dagger. Small, sharp, a constant companion. 

It slices through the man’s neck clean. 

 

Tony gets the call the next day. 

“Captain,” he greets, “how can we help?” 

They meet up at an apartment complex twenty-five minutes away. Fury looks grim today, or, grimmer than usual. “The apartment belongs to an Ian Vickers. He’s also probably the victim.”

“Probably?” Peter asks. 

“He means there’s no body.” Tony answers.

Fury’s grimness is starting to make more sense, “Yeah. Just a shit ton of blood.” 

He leads them to the living room where Peter sees the biggest pool of blood he’s ever seen. It spans almost the width of the entire room. The smell is almost unbearable. He feels sick right down to his stomach and he has to turn around to catch his breath. It looks like a person’s been drained. Down to the very last drop. 

He catches sight of Tony’s face and all the nausea disappears when he sees the intensity in his eyes. An intensity that almost frightens him. 

“The blood is from just one person. Vickers’ secretary dropped off some files and found the place like this. There’s no way he’s alive considering all this.” Fury explains. 

Tony still hasn’t said anything. It’s uncharacteristic. Off-putting. It makes Peter feel an irrational fear that has him reaching for his sleeve, tugging on it slightly. “Hey.” he whispers, “Are you okay?” 

Tony’s staring so intently at the blood it’s disturbing. He nods jerkily, not even looking at Peter. 

Fury carries on, “Aside from the blood, the scene is clean. No footprints, no witnesses, no nothing. Whoever did this,” his mouth thins into a hard line, “we have nothing on him.” 

“He’s tall.” Tony says, curt, quick, matter-of fact.

“What?”

“He’s tall. Strong too. He’d have to be, to hang his victims from a hook.” Tony walks around the blood, in his eyes a razor sharp focus that made you afraid to even touch him, “The hooks are gone now obviously, but at one point, they were connected to a tripod device of the killer’s own design. He assembled it after he incapacitated Vickers, then hung him upside down, then slit his throat.”

The eyes in the room stare at him. 

Tony doesn’t even notice.

“Gravity and the last few beats of his heart drove every last bit of blood out of his body.” 

He crouches down, “Look here and here, that’s where the tripod was placed, you can tell by the grooves in the hardwood, it’s from the legs. After he drained Vickers, he dismantled the device, taking it and the body with him.” 

Fury is bewildered, “How in the _hell_ did you deduce all of that from a pool of blood??”

Tony finally looks up, “I didn’t deduce anything. I’ve stalked this monster before. In London.” 

Peter swallows hard. 

They take it back to the precinct so that Tony can give a presentation about all he knows. He asks Peter to run back and forth from the printer, never once saying a word other than his needs. Peter’s too uncertain to push, unsure of how he’s feeling, unsure of how Tony is feeling. He doesn’t know what to do so he just does what he’s told. 

Eventually, their board is done and Peter calls everyone into the bullpen for the debriefing. Tony’s standing straight, an odd energy sizzling through him. “H. It’s a simple monicker, but he’s a complicated monster. He’s the most sinister murderer I’ve ever had the displeasure of pursuing.” The board behind him is filled with victim profiles, time-lines, evidence samples, but Tony ignores them all.

“He’s been active since January two-thousand-and-two and during the last ten years, he’s killed thirty-seven six people, now-thirty-seven. There are no photos of him, he’s methodical, efficient, clean. He has no type or victim profile which makes it impossible to predict where he might strike next.” he’s talking faster than normal, almost like he’s vitalized. 

“In terms of the victims,” he points to some photos behind him, “the oldest is eighty-two, the youngest is twelve.” Peter’s stomach twists, “He drains their blood then dumps their bodies into the ocean. Twenty-one of his victims were recovered when they washed up on the coastline, our best guess for the other sixteen is that they were lost at sea.” 

He looks up, “You should notify the Coast Guard to be on the lookout for Vickers’ body.”

Fury nods, “The lab called, confirmed all the blood was his.” his mouth sets in a grim line, “All twelve pints.”

Tony doesn’t look surprised. “Yeah, I have no idea what his fascination with blood is, he mentions it when he reaches out to the police, but only rarely.” he hands out photocopies of white paper with magazine letters strung together in long sentences, some messages taking up the entire page, “You’ll notice that he has a tendency to ramble, but that’s just a show. H isn’t nearly as crazy as he wants us to think he is. He’s trying to make it harder for anyone to analyze him.”

Peter’s hands are tight around the page. “The last thing is that H kills in bunches. So the NYPD needs to be on alert. There _will_ be more bodies.” 

“I brought all my personal files about the case, I’ll pass them out soon.” With that, Tony walks back into the conference room where stacks of boxes are waiting.

Peter follows after him, closing the door. “Hey, you okay?”

Tony glances at him curiously, “Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know…you just seem…excited.” he says slowly. 

Tony doesn’t say anything, just continues digging through the file boxes, “And at the crime scene, you were staring at the blood.” 

Tony looks at him, “Yeah, I know. I was a little intense. But the second I saw it; I knew it was H.”

“And what about today?”

“Ten years ago, when H first started killing, I was working with Scotland Yard to find him. But by the time he got to his thirty-sixth victim, my alcoholism was just out of control and…” he shrugs, “well, let’s just say I wasn’t much help to anyone.” 

Peter nods, he gets where he gets it now.

“So now, H’s in America? It’s my second chance. An opportunity to do it right this time, to make it right.” 

But something strikes Peter with that comment, something sinister. “Wait, back in London, did H know about you?”

Tony shrugs, a typical deflection move, “He may have referenced me in a letter or two yeah.”

Peter’s lip pulls in worry, “And you don’t think it’s weird that he’s suddenly appeared in New York so soon after you came?”

Tony blinks, “Well not until now I didn’t.” 

Peter gapes, “Mr. Stark! This is! This isn’t cool! He could be here for you or, or something bad!”

“I mean, it’s kinda flattering don’t you think? Him following me across the globe? Kinda romantic.” Tony muses.

“Mr. _Stark!_ ” 

Fury pokes his head in, “Did I hear that right or did the kid say H followed you from London?”

“It’s not confirmed, yet Chief.” 

“I’m your Captain Stark. But still, I’m posting a couple uniforms outside your place until further notice.”

“Oh come on-”

“Yes! Thank you Captain Fury sir!” 

Tony glares at Peter and Peter glares right back. 

 

Later that night, a woman puts her clothes back on, moving her wet hair to the side to not dampen the back of her shirt. There’s a shadow behind her. She tenses, turns around, only to see H. He slides her a roll of hundreds, “Thanks for the effort.” he says, before plopping onto the couch and turning on the TV.

She smiles, tucks it into her pocket, “Thanks babe.” 

He doesn’t answer her. 

“So, what do you do?” she tries again. 

The look he gives her is enough for her to back off. She bites her lip, “So I was thinking-”

“Look I’m sorry, but do you mind? It’s the semi-finals and I’m pretty invested.” 

She frowns, “Okay, sorry. Thanks again.” she picks up her purse and leaves. 

At the same moment, H’s phone vibrates, a characteristic tone meant for one person, and one person only. He slides the lock screen open to see a text that to outsider eyes, would appear to be a series of gibberish, numbers, symbols and letters strewn together in an illogical sequence. 

But H knows better than that.

He types back a response in the same code before pulling out a suitcase. Inside are some of his usual weapons of choice and a baggy of magazine letters. He drops the letters onto the table, arranging them in the right message. 

 

The next morning, Peter and Tony meet Bruce at the morgue. “Brucie! How you doing?” 

“Not so good. I’ve been prepping for our chess match next Thursday and I feel bad knowing how badly you’re gonna lose.” 

Tony snorts, “Alright, tone it down hot shot.” 

“You guys here to see Vickers?” when they nod, Bruce pulls out the drawer with his body, gesturing for them to go wild. “He washed up on Roosevelt Island.” 

While Bruce tends to his paperwork, Tony examines the body. “Okay, if he was found there, that means he was dumped somewhere on the east side of Manhattan, I’m betting Brooklyn Navy Yard. You can tell based on the oil in his hair.” 

Peter nods, “Oh yeah, there’s lots of industrial engine oil around the yard right?”

“Mhm.” 

They examine every inch of the corpse but as they suspected before they got there, it’s wiped clean of anything useful. If H ever did make a mistake, the ocean had washed it all away. But at least now they had a clue. An origin. Maybe someone would have spotted something. 

They say goodbye to Bruce and head back home where Peter’s babbling about the case, “Should I look through the files? I can help you sort through them.”

Tony pauses for a second, “No, it’s fine. I want you to focus on the New York incident for now. I’ll fill in the gaps for you.”

Peter thinks that’s kinda weird but Tony also has a weird thing for efficiency, so he doesn’t really comment, just launches into a tirade about keeping safe and listening to Fury more when Tony presses a hand over his mouth as soon as they walk through the door. Peter stops. “Mm, ‘Ony?” 

Tony sniffs, peering into the hall like he smelt something strange. “Peter, I need you to be very, very quiet.” Tony whispers, “I think our house just turned into a crime scene.” 

Peter’s eyes widen. 

Together, they head slowly into the living room, eyes and ears on alert. They case the entire floor, the upstairs, and finally the basement before confirming they were the only ones home. They circle back to the living room where a lamp is turned on to high-light the paper with magazine letters glued underneath it, signed with the letter H. 

 

Fury, Steve, and Thor arrive half an hour later. When Fury reads the letter aloud, he doesn’t sound impressed at all, “Men make plans, God laughs. I am laughing at you now, as I always have. You think you honor me with your pursuit, you do not. You are a mouse chasing a lion. A mere planet in orbit of a raging sun.” he sets it down, turning to Thor.

“You talk to the cops I sent to watch the house yet?” 

“I did. They said they never saw anyone come anywhere near the door.”

“That’s because he didn’t come through the front. He came in through the back. Peter noticed that the lock on the back door was picked. It was well done actually.” Tony admits. 

Fury gives him a look, “I guess this answers the question about whether he came here for you or not.” 

Tony looks away, “If I had known he’d come here, I wouldn’t have-”

“Hey,” Thor says, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “we are not in control of the actions of others, only ourselves.” 

Tony gives him a weak smile, but Steve still isn’t at ease. “We should get you two into a safe house until all this H stuff is dealt with.”

“That’s just excessive, we’re fine.” Tony says.

“Tony.” Fury says, voice hard, “There’s a serial killer who broke into your home.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “If he wanted to kill me, he would have. Instead he left me a note.”

“You have a minor living with you Tony, this is serious.”

And for the first time, a spark of defensiveness bursts inside him. “I know that. You don’t think I care about Peter’s safety? But I know this guy. He doesn’t want to kill me. He wants to play a game. And I can’t play with him if I’m dead.” just as quickly as he erupted, he calms, “If you want to leave more security here, then by all means.” he catches Fury’s gaze, “But I’m safe here. I guarantee it.”

“Okay, fine.” Fury finally says, “That just leaves you Parker.” 

But Peter just stands closer to Tony’s side, chin high, “I’m not going anywhere without Mr. Stark. If he says we’re okay, I trust him.” 

Tony glances at him from the corner of his eye and there’s something almost sad in his smile. Something like regret. 

When everyone leaves and the house is finally empty save for its occupants, Peter sags into the couch, exhausted. “That was crazy.” 

Tony doesn’t look up from his computer, “Yeah well, being a detective isn’t exactly boring.”

Peter yawns, stretching his arms behind his head, “I think I’m gonna head to bed, you good down here?”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep, we’re gonna have a long day tomorrow.” 

Except Tony doesn’t really sound all that present so Peter gets up, peers at his screen. It’s a listing for a warehouse under renovation, property four of nine. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Just some properties my dad owns. I’m thinking of maybe switching up our living situation.”

Peter furrows his brows, “But I thought you said we were safe.”

“We totally are, don’t worry. But for the next time…it’s just good to look at options. Something more secure maybe.” 

Peter looks unconvinced, “Alright, but I refuse to live anywhere that doesn’t have a functional shower. Or toilet.” 

Tony snorts, “Noted.” 

Peter turns to leave, hesitating at the archway, “Also…for the record, I meant what I said- to the Captain. I _do_ trust you. To keep me safe, I mean.”

Tony looks at him, trying to smile but looking like he just doesn’t have the energy. He reaches out an arm to ruffle his hair, his hand falling to cup Peter’s face. Peter feels his emotions rise up to his throat and a part of him just wants to hug Tony tight. He feels like he’s missing something. Something important. But Tony’s looking at him with a rare softness. “Go to sleep kid.”

Peter has the weirdest feeling in that moment that Tony’s grown to love him. 

When Peter goes to bed, what he doesn’t know, is that the second Tony hears the door click shut, he stands up, walks to the bookshelf where he pulls out a worn leather-bound book. He sets it on the table, opening it quickly to reveal the pages cut out and a camera, stuck to the outer edge. 

He plugs the USB cable into his computer, opening the camera’s drive. It reveals an empty living room. Tony fast-forwards through the footage, stopping when he sees movement in the upper right corner. He pauses the video just as the man looks up after taping the note to the lamp. It’s dark, shadows cover half his face, but some things he can tell for certain. Square jaw, dirty blonde hair, prominent nose. 

H murdered thirty-seven people and now Tony had a face. 

 

It’s the late afternoon and H walks down the street, it’s a crowded type of day and he’s in a marginally touristy area, with vendors stalking the crowds for easy prey. He has no idea how he could be mistaken for one, except a boy, no older than seventeen wearing a red beanie bounds up, holding up a case full of sunglasses, “Hey man, I got some Gucci knock-offs and for just twenty bucks they’re yours.”

“No thanks.” he grunts, trying to move away. 

But the boy’s insistent, he presses up against him, the box digging into his arm, “Okay that’s cool, that’s cool. Too Euro-trash? How about American style?” 

H shoves him slightly, “Back. Off.” 

“Come on man just take a-”

H pushes him again, harder this time, and the boy stumbles, dropping the case and his phone in the process. The screen of his phone shatters and he looks up, aghast, “You broke my phone!”

The crowd is starting to look at him now, the woman he’d been stalking now rushing into her apartment complex. H groans, pulling up his hood and retreating away, ignoring the boy’s demands for compensation. 

 

When Peter wakes up, Tony’s gone, but there’s some breakfast on the counter and a set of five locks Tony wants him to pick set in order of increasing difficulty. He’s working his way through lock number three when the doorbell rings. Curious, he peeks out the little glass hole to see one of their detail escorting a kid in a red beanie. 

Confused now, Peter opens the door.

“Hey Officer Kim.” he says hesitantly. 

“This kid was trying to get to your door, claims to be a friend of Stark’s. You know him?” Kim asks. 

Peter looks at him again, apologetic, “No, sorry. And Mr. Stark isn’t here.” 

“Look man,” the boy says, “Tony told me to text him, but I couldn’t ‘cause I broke my phone. That’s the only reason why I’m here.” 

Officer Kim isn’t impressed, “Say the word, and he’s outta here.” he says, looking right at Peter.

Peter looks at the stranger, “Are you a friend of his?”

The boy wrinkles his nose, “Tony? He don’t have friends. I’m an associate.”

Peter lets out an amused breath, “Yeah, he’s okay. Come in. Don’t worry,” Peter says, looking at Kim, “if I need you guys, I’ll use the radio Steve left me.” 

“I’m Devon by the way.” the boy introduces himself as he saunters through the house ogling, “Never been inside her before.” 

“How did you and Mr. Stark meet?” Peter asks, sitting the opposite way on one of the dining chairs while Devon examines the odd bookshelf. 

Devon shrugs, rubbing the bottom of his nose quickly, “A while back me and my buddy were running a con in the park. I’d chat people up and Mike’d steal their wallets. No one ever caught us except Tony. He made us give all the stuff back but he didn’t turn us in.” he shrugs again, “Now he just uses us sometimes.”

“Uses you?”

“You know, running weird errands and stuff. Like today, he asked me and my boys to go check out a few hotels to look for this guy.” he hands Peter a folded up photo of a dark blonde haired man standing in his own living room, “Said he’d give us a few hundred bucks if we did.” he claps his hands on his thighs, “And I did. So I’m here to collect.” 

The previous humor vanishes from Peter’s face and his shoulders tighten. “If this is who I think he is, he’s dangerous. You should stay away from him.”

“Don’t worry about it, he told me to stick to public spaces.” Peter still isn’t saying anything and so Devon gets up, “Not to be pushy, but is he comin’ back soon? ‘Cause I need to get paid.” 

Peter ends up giving him three-hundred from the take-out money Tony keeps in one of the kitchen drawers and waits for Tony to return. He stares at the photo, unsure how to deal with the mix of feelings swirling around inside him. He examines the photo closer, realizes the angle it had to be on and traces it back to one spot on the bookshelf, after some trial and error, he finds the camera tucked between the pages of a thick book. Something electric runs through him, something bad. 

He sets the book down. 

Where there was one, there had to be more.

 

Peter’s waiting in the living room in plain sight of the door for when Tony returns with four cameras placed side by side on the coffee table. Tony stops when he sees him, glances at the cameras, and then sighs.

“Oh, you’re the one sighing? How about me! I just found out I’ve been spied on by four different cameras for the three months I’ve been here!”

“Peter,” Tony says, standing in front of him, “this is our home and we do dangerous work, did you seriously think I wasn’t going to have this place rigged up like the Pentagon?” 

Peter shirks back, lip pulled. The annoying thing is that…he really should’ve known. But it wasn’t really about that. “Still. You could have told me. You could have trusted me. I feel…I feel…” he curls in on himself like he’s trying to hide.

“Hey.” Tony says, this time in a softer voice, “I never watch the tapes unless something happens.” he sighs, rubbing at his forehead, “I’m so used to living alone I forget sometimes about this stuff. I just assumed you’d know. But that doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry.” 

Peter looks up at him, sees that he means it. “Okay. It’s okay. You caught a killer so I can’t really complain that much.”

“Devon found him?” 

“Yeah, but how did you know where H would be?” 

“The picture mostly. He’s wearing expensive stuff, vintage MG driving gloves and John Varvatos shoes. He also just came to New York. So he had to be staying somewhere and I knew it was a hotel and not a house he owned because of something I smelt when we came home the day he left the note. It was a weird combo of high-end hand soap and high-end mint-based shampoo. A bunch of hotels use them, but one only one chain uses both. The Betancourt.” 

Tony shrugs, getting up to make a cup of coffee. “That’s what I was doing this morning. Once I figured out the chain, I sent the guys out to snoop around there and watch for him.”

Peter makes a face, “Okay yeah, I get all the deductions but why would you send a bunch of kids my age to find him instead of telling the Captain?”

Tony stops then, gets a strange look in his eye and suddenly, Peter just knows. “You’re not gonna tell the Captain…are you?”

Tony’s hand pauses over the machine buttons, his face half turned away. “The other day, I told you about Natasha Romanoff. I told you she died.” his fist curls into a fist, “What I didn’t tell you was how. H killed her.”

Peter feels robbed of air.

“Obviously, H found out how much I helped the British police in their case against him. So he came here, found me, made things personal.”

They haven’t spent a long time together, Peter knows that, but in that time, that short, short span of his life, he’d come to know Tony on a level deeper than even maybe Tony knew. And he knows that he yelled at him before about how he didn’t know anything about Tony but it wasn’t true. It wasn’t. Because maybe he didn’t know his past, but he knew how Tony was feeling based on the micro-expression on his face, knew when he was feeling Chinese over Italian, knew that he liked his coffee black and strong, knew that he liked to order his locks by country of origin and then date of manufacture, knew which music he liked best when he tinkered in his workshop. 

But more importantly, he knew the face Tony would make when he was about to do something he knew he shouldn’t.

“You’re not going to arrest him. You’re going to hurt him.” Peter whispers, brows drawn together like he wishes it weren’t real.

Tony’s eyes are hard. “Peter, stay out of this.”

Peter shoots up, legs shaky. “What do you mean stay out of this?? How can I stay out of this?? You’re going to- you’re going-”

“I’m going to get revenge.” Tony’s fingers smash into the countertop before gripping the sides tightly. “I’ve been dreaming about this moment for one year and six months. That’s when he killed her. That’s when he killed Natasha.” 

He whirls around and Peter can see the grief still fresh in his eyes, the pain that haunts every shadow. “We were together for seven months by then and for the first time in my entire life I was just gone for someone. Before Nat, every woman I’d ever met wasn’t enough, couldn’t meet me where I needed them to. But Natasha was different. She was incredible.”

“You were in love.” Peter says, softer than the loud beating of his heart.

“Yeah. I loved her. More than I’d ever loved anyone in the world. Before her, I drank the way everyone else did. After she died…” Tony shakes his head, “I lost control over everything. I drank and shot up and I tried to find H but eventually, the trail went cold and everything just got worse.” Tony’s saying more to him now than he has in the weeks they were together but everything about it seems inadequate, hollow, like he’s just getting it all off his chest before he up and leaves.

“Mr. Stark, I know that you’re hurting and I know that you’re mad but you can’t do this. You can’t turn into him. When May died, you told me arresting Dr. Baldwin was justice. It’s the same thing here.” he’s pleading now, he knows he is, but he feels like Tony’s walking somewhere he can’t follow and the thought makes his heart twist into an unbearable knot.

Tony looks at him and the darkness seeps away for just a moment, “That’s because you’re better than me kid. Always were.” 

“No! You don’t have to do this! You don’t-” Peter stops, “Wait, is that why you didn’t want me reading the case files? Because you knew I’d see Natasha’ name and put it all together?”

“I didn’t let you read the files because I didn’t want this exact conversation to happen. I didn’t want you to feel responsible for something that has nothing to do with you.” Tony says as though those words could ever be true. 

“It has everything to do with me! You can’t do this!” Peter hates it, but he feels the tears prick at his eyes anyway, “You’ll change Mr. Stark. When you do something like that…it never goes away.” 

“No.” Tony finally says, “It doesn’t.” 

He looks at Peter one last time before turning around and walking to the door. His fingers turn around the knob but Peter sprints after him, gripping his sleeve. May died and he feels the pain of her passing inside him every single day but the person who made that pain liveable, even the slightest bit bearable, was standing right in front of him. The person who planned her funeral and encouraged him to write a speech and bought him tulips to plant and bought Thai to commemorate her and who drove him to the cemetery whenever Peter wanted so he could have a quiet moment with his aunt and uncle. 

The man who laughed at his jokes and taught him poisons from medicines and the art of body language reading and how to differentiate between a real and a fake brand. The man who ruffled his hair when he was feeling especially fond and told him he was proud of him and encouraged him to make mistakes and grow. Yeah, they fought, a lot. They bickered and they teased each other, but they had fun together too. And bonded, and grew, and learned how to be kinder to one another. 

They had built a family. 

He can say it now. Freely, openly, truly. 

Tony was all he had left in the world. 

And more than that, more important than just that, he’s all Peter wanted from it. 

“Please Tony.” he chokes and he sees the way his eyes widen when he hears his name from Peter’s lips for the first time, “Please don’t go. Natasha wasn’t the only one who loved you. I do too. And I know she needed you then, but I need you now. Please don’t go.” 

And he knows that he doesn’t have to say the words for Tony to know he’s saying I love you and he knows that Tony knows exactly what he means because Tony always knows. But no matter how desperately he wishes, Tony hears the words but he doesn’t listen. 

Carefully, like he’s holding something precious, he curls Peter’s fingers off from around his shirt and lets his hand go. And before Peter can move, Tony has his hand clasped around his neck and he pulls Peter in close so that his lips brush against his forehead. 

Just as suddenly as he’s there, he’s gone. 

Peter stands inside, alone. 

 

Outside, two things happen at once. 

The cool summer air is needed as Tony walks down the street, feeling all sorts of god-awful, but the throbbing need to carry out a vendetta over-riding all other thoughts. He catches Devon outside his home taking out the trash. “I know you met with Peter today. Tell me everything you told him. And don’t leave anything out.” 

Miles east, a woman sits on her couch watching HGTV. The lights are off. She gets up when her dog starts barking uncontrollably. “Macey! Macey relax!” 

But when she finds her dog, she’s eating a hot dog she had never put out for her and in the distance, she can see her door hanging open. She tries to reach for her cellphone but before she can, a gloved hand wraps around her mouth and she’s dragged backwards. 

Macey continues eating. 

 

Peter calls Fury the second Tony leaves, he’s wiped his tears, steeled his expression and he’s already running to the precinct. He knows it’s late, but he also knows Fury will haul his ass back if it means ending this before it begins. 

As Peter expected, he’s furious when Peter tells him. 

“Son of a _bitch_. What’s he thinking?? We’ve all lost people, we all get revenge. But we don’t _pull this shit_.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything. He has nothing to add and deep inside, he’s completely empty where it counts, having just bared his soul to receive nothing in return. 

“The Devon kid, what did he say about H?” 

This at least, Peter can do. Be a detective. Run on auto-pilot. “That he was staying at an upscale hotel. The Betancourt chain.” 

“Okay, I’ll send some guys out to scope them out.” 

Peter swallows, “I don’t think he’s the only one you should be looking for. If Tony wanted him, he probably already has him.” 

 

H clicks on the woman’s TV, turning on another sports game, after he’s done tying her hands and feet. The woman is screaming but her voice is muffled by the gag. She’s banging on the wall but H knows her neighbors are gone so it’s all in vain. He doesn’t tell her that though. Better that she tire herself out. 

The announcer yells about a goal and he stops the tripod installation to get a better look before he hears a derisive scoff. “A rugby fan? God, as if I didn’t have enough reason to hate you.”

H turns around, confused. “You?” 

Tony tilts his head, “Yeah. Me.” Before he whips out a taser and with a burst of electricity, H’s on the ground. 

When H wakes up, he groans, blinking away the grogginess to discover that his wrists are cuffed to a section of scaffolding in what looks like an abandoned warehouse. Across from him is Tony, face marred with shadows next to a table of various tools and lethal objects. “Oooh,” H coos, “Look at all the toys. You figure out where you’re gonna start? Or is this your first time?” 

“Don’t know yet.” Tony answers, voice entirely too cavalier, “Kinda wanted to use this snake I got solving an exotic animal smuggling ring, but then I figured that was too much of an easy death.” 

“And that would be just tragic.” the man drawls.

“Yeah and I want to enjoy this.” Tony walks up to him, looks into his eyes as though trying to find a reflection of his past love before cocking his fist back and punching him straight in the eye. 

H’s head flies back, but he snaps his neck back into place without so much as a flinch. But the anger doesn’t abate inside Tony. Not even a little, not even one iota. And he punches again, this time in his solar plexus, knocking the air right out of him and H wheezes but it’s not enough. It’s still not enough and the more he hits him, the less any of it matters and Tony looks behind him to his row of special objects and picks up the drill, pressing on the button to hear the whir. 

He looks up, sees H’s blank faced stare. He’s breathing a bit more heavily now, but still looking alright and Tony imagines what it would feel like to ram the nail right through his arm and see the muscles rip away. He imagines how he’d feel. 

Vindicated?

Avenged? 

Except…all that fills his heart is just…more anger. 

More fury and resentment and rage and a silent evil that Tony can feel creeping up over his soul like a swarm of locusts; dissolving everything good. And he thinks about what’s good in him, truly, purely good. And for some reason, all he can see is Peter’s face.

And he can’t let go of the past. Has never been able to. Not ever. But what about his future? What about Peter? 

And for some reason, what he remembers is Peter’s face when he and Fury had found him in the woods after Krystlle lured him there. The relief, the joy, the _gratitude_ that he’d found Tony safe and unharmed. 

Tony’s said I love you to exactly three people. One was a love he’d known before anything else in the world, a mother he lost before he was ready. Two was a college room-mate who’d loved Tony first even when there was nothing worth loving at all, a man who Tony knew was off being a true hero somewhere in the world. Three, Natasha. Beautiful, witty, unchallenged Natasha. 

Yelling in rage, Tony squeezes his hand around the drill, shooting it straight to H’s deltoid, finger pressed on the trigger when he stops, a millimetre away from the skin. The warehouse is silent except for the ominous whirring. 

Tony’s breathing hard. His rage makes his lungs feel small. But impossibly, unfathomably, something smaller than his anger, small than his grief, but so much brighter, makes him stop. 

He wants to see Peter grow up. 

And it’s- it’s such a ridiculous thought. So uncharacteristic. So domestic. 

This is the moment he’s been waiting for. The moment he’s dreamt of since the second Natasha died and he’s throwing it away. He’s not even- he’s not even using it at all. 

But for the first time since London, Tony’s found something worth moving on for. Something worth letting the past go for. Something worth letting his rage pass.

The drill, now silent, presses against R’s skin, but doesn’t pierce through. Tony slides his hand down and the nail slides with it and slowly, he lets it drop to the floor. H stares, derisive. “Why go through all this goddamn trouble if you’re not even gonna do it?” 

Tony feels erratic. He feels frantic and frazzled and short-circuited and he just wants to disappear but this asshole is going to piss him off and he might seriously kill him accidentally. “Don’t fuck with me.” Tony warns. 

“You just used my face as a living art exhibit, I deserve to know why don’t you think?” 

“Natasha.” Tony says, through gritted teeth, as though just saying her name will make him fall back into that hole again. 

H makes a face, somewhere between confusion and trying to think and the anger rises in Tony by the second. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know her. Or I really will drill a hole through your ribs.” 

“Natasha what?” 

“Romanoff! Natasha Romanoff! You killed her in her apartment a year and a half ago.” Tony yells, banging his hand on the table making everything clatter.

H narrows his eyes, looking at him intently. “Look man, I hate to burst your bubble, but that wasn’t me.” 

“Don’t try to lie. How many other psychos kill their victims using a tripod and drain all their blood?”

“Listen man, I was in jail for six months, at Brixton. I got into a fight with a soccer fan, bashed him up a bit. I was there for three months already a year and a half ago. So imagine my surprise, when I read the paper and they say H’s struck again. I was so disappointed in you dead-weights, falling for that copy-cat.” and he sounds genuinely offended but Tony glares.

“I’m so close to stitching your mouth shut you _liar_.” 

“Why would I _lie??_ You already wussed out of your little torture game. What’s the point?”

“Shut UP!”

“Plus, why are you even here? Did you hear I murdered that guy and just get on the next plane??”

Tony stops, looking incredulous, “What the hell are you talking about? You know I live here.”

“The fuck I _don’t_.” 

“What the fu- you left a note, in my house!” Tony yells, exasperated, and if the whole situation wasn’t a giant clusterfuck he’d almost want to laugh from how fucking stupid this entire conversation is.

“That was you?” all the light-heartedness is gone, something dark and revelatory dawning on H’s face. “Something’s not right.” he mutters to himself.

Tony narrows his eyes. “You have no idea do you?” H asks, looking at him like he finally understands what’s happening around him, “You still think I’m a serial killer. I’m an assassin, like for _money_. I have a boss like every other shmuck around here. I get sent the names of everyone I’ve ever killed and he pays me after.”

“I already told you to stop lying didn’t I? I’m putting you away for Nat’s murder.”

“How many times do I have to say I’m not lying!” and for the first time H’s voice booms in the warehouse and Tony understands why people would be afraid, “He sold me out. My boss, that fucker. He never told me you were here.”

“Who?”

“My boss! The MO’s, the notes, the serial killer bullshit, all that was lies he made up.”

Tony stares at him, analyzing every inch of him. “Let’s say I believe you. What was his motive for killing thirty-seven people?” 

H closes his eyes, “I don’t know. I never met him. He sends me coded messages on my phone.” He jerks his head down, “It’s there, in my pocket. Look if you don’t believe me.”

Tony purses his lips before giving in, reaching in to pull out his phone. He finds the messages, a series of unintelligible combinations of numbers, letters and symbols. “You know this proves jack shit right?”

H groans, twisting in his restraints angrily before he stops, looking at him intently. “Clint Barton, that’s my real name. Look it up. I was on trial for weeks, it was all over the papers. I couldn’t have hurt your girlfriend. I was in jail. I have proof.” 

Tony glares, lip trembling. He doesn’t want to check. Doesn’t want to prove it true. But he also can’t not. He has to know what really happened. Has to know if Natasha’s death was part of a broader conspiracy or just another serial killer’s whims. 

“He always talked about you.” Clint rambles, “He was obsessed with you. He never told me you were here and he sure as hell didn’t tell me that was your apartment.” he pauses, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who killed her. Natasha.” 

Tony shakes his head, “No.” he mutters, “No, no.”

“Don’t let him play you too Stark.”

“No! It’s you!”

“It isn’t! You want to kill me for everyone else I killed? Fine! Go ahead! But your girlfriend? That was him. That was The Spider.” 

 

Peter watches as the woman who was almost murdered cries softly in her hospital bed as Fury looks at her with a gentle gaze. “I was on the floor, he had tied my hands and feet tied with zip-ties and I tried screaming but the tape was so- it was so-” she starts to sob and Peter is quick to comfort her. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe now Miss. Cullen.” 

Anna sniffs, taking a breath before continuing, “I was on the floor when I saw the second man’s feet when he came in. He walked right by me. I didn’t see his face. But he talked to the man who tied me up but I couldn’t hear him over the TV, but after a minute, the second man came back and said he was going to untie me but that I couldn’t turn around and that I had to wait ten minutes, and then call the police.” Tears stream down her face, “He even said please.” 

Peter’s face is expressionless. “Is there anything else you remember about either of them?” 

She nods, sniffing again. “Yeah, the second one, the one who freed me, he had some sort of…some sort of chalk on his shoes. Or a- a white powder.” 

Peter’s eyes widen and when they’re done taking her statement, he grabs Fury’s arm, “I think I know where Mr. Stark is. The other day, he was looking at properties his dad owns. And one of them was a warehouse. In the photo, it looked like they were renovating and there was plaster dust everywhere.”

“White powder…” Fury nods, “You have the address?”

Peter looks away, “No. But I think I might know how to get it.” 

 

“The Spider’s who you want. Not me.” But Clint is red in the face, sweating from every pore.

“You’re afraid.” Tony states.

“No.” And Clint’s voice drops to a deathly tone, “I’m angry. The Spider sold me out. So I’m gonna get even.”

“You’re a monster. A killer. A sadist.” 

“Yeah. I am.” Clint looks him in the eye, “But I’m not a liar.” 

“You know I couldn’t have been in two places at once, you know I never touched her!” Clint yells, “You kill me and you’ll kill the only clue you’ll ever have of finding him. Of finding the real killer!” 

“Why?” Tony pushes, “Why is he obsessed with me? Why did he kill Natasha??” 

“You think I’m a sadist?” Clint laughs, “No one likes puzzles more than he does. He’s just playing a game and we’re all caught up in his web.” 

 

“Okay, we know that they’re renovating the warehouse, which means if we call the Buildings Department we can ask them to check which building Mr. Stark senior applied for a remodeling permit for and-” Peter’s interrupted when his phone rings. 

He scrambles for his phone and doesn’t know what to think when he sees Tony’s name flashing on the screen. “Mr. Stark?” he asks, barely able to breathe.

“Hey kid. I need you to rally the troops for me. Can you do that?” 

Peter’s fingers around the phone tighten, “Are you at your dad’s warehouse?” 

He can almost hear that little breathy huff Tony does whenever he’s impressed, “Yeah, I’ll text you the address.”

They’re both quiet for a second, “Peter, I didn’t hear you when you said it, but when it mattered, I heard you. Loud and clear.” 

Tony hangs up, but Peter’s so relieved he doesn’t even care. His head falls into his hand and he just tries to breathe. 

 

“For the last time,” Clint groans, clacking his hand-cuffed hands on the sticky interrogation table, “Stark didn’t kidnap me, _Jesus_. Do you guys even listen?” 

“Ok, one last time, from the top. I lured him to that that girl’s place and then he followed me to that warehouse.”

“A warehouse that just happens to be owned by his dad.” Fury asks, unimpressed.

“Well yeah. How funny would it be if they found the poor guy dead in his own dad’s place?” Clint grins in an overly plastic way and Fury lets out an extremely frustrated breath.

“And your injuries?”

“I mean, how else would that go? I attacked him, he defended himself. Bada bing, bada boom.”

Peter, having heard enough, leaves the observation room to head into Fury’s office where Tony is still sitting almost comatose like on the couch. “Hey.” Peter says softly, closing the door gently behind him.

Tony smiles, but it’s thin, weak. “Hey yourself.”

“You’re missing one hell of a story. He refuses to give you up.”

“Yeah. He wants my help, to find out who framed him.”

“What? He asked you for help?? But he killed Natasha.” 

Tony looks at him with empty eyes, “Actually, he didn’t. I just checked his alibi. He really was in jail when it happened.” 

And Tony looks so miserable, so utterly miserable, that Peter throws himself into his side, hugging him tight. “I’m sorry Mr. Stark. I’m sorry we still have to look for her killer. I’m sorry you had to deal with her death all alone. I’m sorry.” 

Tony doesn’t move to wrap his arms around him, but Peter can feel him swallow hard, feel him rest his head atop of Peter’s like he was laying down a heavy weight. “I’m so sorry about everything. But I’m glad you didn’t go through with it. I’m really, really glad.” 

He hears Tony’s breath shudder for just a second before he regains complete control, “I always thought I knew everything, that I could make a decision and it would be okay. But even when I stopped before things got serious, I still wasn’t sure I was making the right call by not hurting him back for everything he’s done. But right now, right here, I think I made the right choice.”

“You did.” Peter repeats, “You did.” 

“I guess that’s what family’s for.” Tony says, his arms slowly circling around, “They help set you straight.”

“Yeah.” Peter replies, sniffing but trying hard not to, “We’re family now. So we gotta watch out for each other, okay?” 

“Okay.” Tony says, “Okay.” 

“I’ll be better.”

Peter is quiet for a long time. “You’re already good Mr. Stark. You just have to believe it now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The struggle of changing the letter from R for Ronin or H for Hawkeye was real guys
> 
> But the plot thickens! Who killed Natasha! And why would the Spider have sent Clint to New York in the first place...


	9. The Suspension

When Tony and Peter came home the night after H was captured, Peter hugged Tony good night before realizing he didn’t know how to let go. Tony gently uncrossed his arms from around his back and led him to the couch facing the fireplace where their crime collages hung. “Lie down kid, it’s been a long night.” Tony murmured. 

He draped a throw atop of Peter who eased into the chair as though it were molded to him. With sleepy eyes, he watched as Tony took down each piece of evidence in his case against H, tucking them into a box as though it were a ritual of the highest divinity. 

When the wall was bare, Tony tacked on a single white card. 

_The Spider_. 

 

Tony’s hyperfixation started days ago and as it happened, the wall got increasingly cluttered with every passing hour. It had grown to feature many a coloured string criss-crossing against photos, pages ripped from newspapers, some old maps, photos of two old white guys, several black horses, a question mark scrawled in marker atop a bank robbery statement and just a whole lot of clutter. 

Peter isn’t impressed. 

“If you’re going to clean the desk-” Tony starts to say, still in a frenzy examining his pictures.

“I’m not touching your crazy wall, don’t worry Mr. Stark.” Peter drawls. 

Tony has both index fingers pressed against his temples like he was trying to connect to psychic spirits. “Listen, the idea that Nat was killed by some shadowy kingpin type no one’s ever seen or heard of before sounded nuts. But _then_ ,” he gestures to his wall, “there’s a pattern in here kid. I know it. A trail of evil little bread-crumbs-”

“Pumpernickel!”

Tony curls his nose, “Gross, perfect. Okay, a trail of pumpernickel crumbs leading to an evil pumpernickel brain.” 

Peter looks at the board, pursing his lips, “Okay, but how’s Napoleon involved?” 

Tony snaps his head around to look at it before promptly ripping it off the wall, “Okay, fourth night without sleep, maybe I was reaching a bit.”

“Yeah,” Peter mocks, “a _bit_.” 

Peter grabs his shoulder, leading him somewhat roughly to the kitchen where he forces Tony to sit down. “You didn’t notice, but I ran out to get some bagels and juice and stuff so just- sit down and _eat_. I know you haven’t at all.” 

Tony snorts, “Tell me it’s pumpernickel.” 

Peter laughs, “Over my dead body. I got us everythings.” 

They’re munching along when Tony stops, flicking Peter in the cheek. “Hey!” Peter yells, pouting, “What??” 

“School’s coming up.” Tony states, “We’re almost done August. Don’t we have to sign you up or something?” 

Peter chews thoughtfully, “I think I’m automatically enrolled probably.” 

“That inspires zero confidence in me, do you know that?” 

Peter sticks his tongue out, enjoying how Tony sports a wow-real-mature look on his face. “I don’t know. Do I even have to go? Who cares?” 

“Uhhh, it’s only your life’s education Mr. I’m-Supposed-To-Be-A-Genius-Kid.” 

Peter sighs, sinking down onto the table, “Okay but I already know what I want to do with my life. I want to be a detective! Like you! Like I am right now!” he insists, looking up with pleading eyes.

Tony shakes his head, “Oh no, back those things away from me young man.” 

Peter bats his eyes harder. 

Tony grabs the paper bag the bagels came in and smacks it atop Peter’s face, laughing as he sputters. “Listen Peter, you have your whole life ahead of you and I’m not going to take away options for future you just because present you doesn’t wanna sit in class and be lectured for six hours a day.” 

“But it’s boooring!!” Peter whines, “And you won’t let me solve cases anymore!”

“That’s not true.” Tony replies, but it’s weak and they both know it.

“Oh my God you _will_ solve cases without me!” Peter gasps.

“Listen, I can’t just wait around for dismissal to catch a lead, come on Pete!”

“Betrayal!” 

Tony’s patting him on the shoulder trying to figure out something inspirational to get him to want to go to school when his desktop computer starts pinging uncontrollably. Peter sticks his head out of his arms to stare at it, “What the heck is happening.”

Tony on the other hand, is positively giddy, “It’s been so busy lately that I haven’t had time anymore, but now that we’re suspended from the NYPD-”

“-You mean when you got us suspended-” Peter grumbles. 

Tony moves on, “I have more time to check swirl-theory.com and talk conspiracy theories.” 

Peter makes a face, “You’re a tin-foil hat guy?”

Tony slaps a hand across his heart, the peak of offense, “How dare you.” 

Peter throws his hands in the air defensively, “Conspiracy theories are ninety-nine percent of the time laughably wrong. Big groups of people can’t keep secrets. That’s just the facts. My hobby is the _theorists_. I love them probably.” Tony says dreamily, “You ever heard about the theory that the CIA invented crack?”

“Yeaaah.” Peter says slowly. 

Tony grins, “I started that one.” 

“Oh my God, Mr. Stark!” 

“It’s fun! People will believe literally anything these days. Anyway, apparently there’s some good stuff about the California wild fires and I’m dying to find out whether it was the Chinese or the government.” 

Peter doesn’t look convinced but shrugs, “I mean whatever makes you happy…I guess??” he slides back his chair, checking his phone quickly, “I’m going out to see Ned for a bit.”

“Have fun kid.” Tony calls, glued to his computer screen before Peter tugs him by the collar. 

“I can’t believe you forgot again,” Peter sighs, “Dr. Strange is like, legit gonna kill you this time.”

Tony’s eyes widen as he glances at the time, “ _Crap_. Ok fine, come on, I’ll drop you off so I can use you as an excuse, chop chop!” 

“Oh my God Mr. Stark.” but he follows behind him anyway, “Actually, if you’re gonna be with Dr. Strange, should I eat with Ned or do you want to get me for dinner after?”

Tony pauses, jutting out his lip as he did when he was working something out, “No let’s go out. I’ll text Bruce, maybe he can entertain us with some morgue stories.” 

Peter snorts, “Yeah, we’re normal. Totally normal.”

Except, in the weirdest way, in this entirely too domestic moment, Tony feels right at home. 

 

“That was CRAZY!” Peter exclaims as he throws open their front door later that night, “I can’t believe someone trained a snake to murder for them. That’s wiiiiild.”

“Definitely one of the weirder murders.” Tony agrees, “Reminds me of this snake charmer I met in London-” he cuts off when they hear a door swing open upstairs and someone humming completely off-tune, “What the hell is that?”

Tony looks back, “Stay here.” he commands as he walks up the stairs.

Peter of course, ignores him. 

Except he stops halfway up the stairs when he sees a naked man with only a tiny towel wrapped around his waist and another towel tousling through his hair. Tony’s entire face goes slack, “Killian??” 

“Oh, hey Tony. Hope you don’t mind I let myself in. Still had the key from last time.” 

Tony keeps staring.

“You know, I did try to call you, but you changed your number.”

Peter pokes out from behind Tony’s shoulder, “Uhh, Mr. Stark? Do you know this guy?”

“Unfortunately.” Tony holds out his arm, keeping Peter back, “If you’re here, that means something happened.” 

Killian looks away, his fingers tightening around the towel, “It’s Emily. She’s been kidnapped.” 

Tony stops. Eyes slanting in a quickly concealed blend of sympathy and horror. He glances at Peter, twists his lip, before gritting his teeth. He walks up the stairs, slowly, like he was waiting for Killian to strike. “When? Is there a ransom?” Tony demands. 

“There was a video, a ransom video, they sent it from her email.”

“Okay?” Tony presses, “What do they want?” 

“Hey guys? Clearly, this is super important, but don’t you think we should talk all about it downstairs when Mr. Killian’s umm, dressed?” Peter interjects. 

Tony looks at him for a second before nodding jerkily. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll be downstairs.”

Killian nods, heading in the direction of Peter’s room when Tony puts up a hand. “That’s not the guest room anymore. Take your stuff out of there and skedaddle.” 

“What are you talking about, it looks the exact same as always.” 

Tony’s voice is tight, “There’s another room down the hall. Use that.” he looks at Peter, “Peter, come on.” 

They make their way to the living room where Tony’s putting on another pot of coffee, his shoulders tense. “So, who’s Emily?” Peter asks, trying to break the silence.

“His daughter. She lives in the city.” 

“Oh.” Peter nods, “So you guys must’ve been friends for a while if he used to crash in my room.” 

Tony stops. “We’re not friends.” he takes a breath, turning to Peter with a vulnerable kind of courage, “I don’t want you getting buddy buddy with him ok Pete? We didn’t have a meet cute and bond over true crime.”

Peter suddenly feels bad, “You knew him when you were using.” he states.

Tony looks like he hasn’t slept in years, “Yeah. He was my drug dealer. And yeah, he used to stay in that room back when I wanted a cocktail of everything.”

Peter bites his lip, “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay? Won’t this be…triggering?” trying to channel Stephen’s usual speeches. 

Tony lets out a breath, “It’ll be fine. I’m a recovering addict and he’s an ex-dealer. The fact is, his daughter’s still kidnapped. And she doesn’t deserve that.” 

But Peter still looks concerned so Tony softens, walking over to where he’s sitting on the dining room chair and resting his hand atop his head. “Hey,” he says softly, “I’ll be fine. I have everything under control okay?”

Peter looks almost afraid, still unconvinced, still worried, but he nods anyway. “Okay.” 

Killian comes down a second later, fully dressed this time. “Okay, let me show you the video.”

The video is grainy, dark, with a slightly greenish tinge. A blonde woman is on the floor, knees curled up into her chest, wrists bound, a black gag in her mouth. Her cheeks are flush from sobbing, her eyes teary and blood-shot. The voice-over sounds mechanic, altered, “Your daughter’s life boils down to two numbers: two million and four days. If you don’t pay in time, she dies. If you involve the police or FBI, she dies. If you deviate from my instructions in any way, she dies. I’ve left a phone for you at her apartment, keep it with you. Wait for further instructions.” 

Killian looks distraught. He sniffs, wiping at his nose before turning around. “Obviously, I went to her place as soon as the plane landed.” he pulls something in a clear plastic bag out of his pocket, “This is the phone. I was careful not to touch it in case there was something useful on it.”

Tony takes it just as Peter speaks up, “Mr. Killian? Why would they ask for that much unless they thought you actually had two million dollars?”

Tony’s face hardens, “A year ago, Killian stole exactly two million from his Dominican suppliers. He’s been hiding in Thailand ever since.” he glances at Peter, “Ex-dealer remember?” 

Killian juts out his chin, “They were being sloppy. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

Tony glares, “It didn’t occur to you that you might be putting Emily in danger?”

“No one knew about her!” Killian’s voice dropped, “No one knew. Except for you.” 

“Yeah. I deduced it. Wasn’t that hard. But I’ve never mentioned her to anyone. _Never_.” 

The men stare at each other, ice in their eyes before Peter cuts through, “Well, did Emily know about the theft?” 

Killian shakes his head. “Before I left, I gave her my new email and told her that if she needed me, she could reach me here. But she never did until this video.” 

Tony looks entirely unsympathetic. “Well the answer’s obvious isn’t it? Just pay them the two million. It’s not like you don’t have it.” 

Killian looks away, rubbing at his eye with his palm as his knee shakes. Tony pinches his nose. “How much is left Killian?”

“Under two…”

“Okay, we can work with a million something.”

Killian looks pained, “Two _thousand_.” 

Peter’s eyes bug out of his head, “You spent _two million_ dollars in less than a _year??_ ” 

Killian throws his hands down, “I didn’t spend it, I lost it.” he points at Tony, “Booze is his vice? Well cards are mine.” 

Tony looks furious and Killian groans, “I know okay? I know. I’m sorry. And I’m even sorrier knowing you’re trying to put this life behind you. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories, but I didn’t know where else to go.” his eyes hide a deep fear, “They said they’d kill her if I went to the cops. And,” he laughs, dry and humorless, “I knew the great Tony Stark, how could I not ask?” 

Tony looks at Killian and Peter can see something wrestling behind his eyes, a tension that warps and wanes before he clenches his jaw. “Okay. We have just under forty-four hours until the ransom’s due.” he stands, “I’ll only need twenty.” 

 

Killian takes them to Emily’s townhouse. It’s average, looks like just about every other single woman’s place with some cute knick knacks, a bit of clutter in the living room and some unwashed dishes in the sink. Tony’s stalked off to assess the rest of the place while Peter examines the contents of her desk. Killian is standing a bit to the side, fiddling with something on a bookshelf, but altogether looking like he was trying to make himself appear useful.

“How are you so calm right now?” Peter asks, not judgemental, just curious, “If someone I loved was missing I’d be-” he remembers May, feels his heart clench, “I’d be crazy.” 

Killian looks down at him with an odd smile, “I delivered some heroin once to Tony at Scotland Yard. Crazy right?” he laughs, “What’s even crazier is that he invited me to watch him interrogate a suspect in a series of car bombings.”

“The police knew there was another guy out there, but didn’t know where. Tony goes in for just five minutes and he figures out where the bomb is from a couple stains on the guy’s _shoe_. You’re asking why I’m not worried?” he points to where they can both hear Tony rummaging in Emily’s bedroom, “Because that’s Tony fucking Stark.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything, still trying to imagine Tony going into work drunk and high off his brains, yet still managing to solve crime in his usual obnoxious ways. It’s the irreverence of it all that gets him. That seems so unlike the Tony he knows now. 

Killian juts his chin at him, “And what about you? What’s Stark doing with a teenager?”

Peter doesn’t hesitate this time, when he has to think about who they’ve become to one another. “He’s my guardian.” 

Killian makes a face, “Guardian-”

“The Dominicans were here.” Tony interrupts, walking towards them, “Or at least one of them was.” he leads them to the staircase, “He was waiting for her here, I found some cigarette ash. They're not Emily’s obviously because there’s no traces of tobacco anywhere else. She doesn’t even have a lighter.” 

Peter crouches down, rubbing the ash between his fingers. “This is from Crema right?” he looks up at Killian, “It’s a popular Dominican brand.” 

“How the hell can you tell that?” 

Peter shrugs, a wry smile at his lips, “Identifying cigarette brands was a lesson topic. I think I can find thirty-seven of them. Mr. Stark can get a hundred and forty.” 

“Good job.” Tony nods, before gesturing for them to move again, “They had a struggle here, in the main room, she dropped her glass of water that she poured. The water spilled on his hand, which explains this.” he smacks his hand against the doorway where a red spiral is smeared onto the wood. 

Peter frowns, “Mr. Stark?”

“We haven’t gotten to this yet, so I’ll forgive your question. This is the symbol for Taino, God of Hurricanes. The Taino,” Tony declares, “were the pre-Colombian inhabitants of what’s now the Dominican Republic.” 

His voice gets a little dryer, “This though, is just the stamp for a Dominican nightclub down in Brooklyn called Hurrikane.” 

Peter nods slowly, “Okay, so because Emily dropped her water, the kidnapper’s stamp transferred to the wall. Maybe we can grab a print?” he asks excitedly.

Tony shakes his head, “No I already checked. He wiped down the doorknobs when he left.” 

“So I guess we’re going to the nightclub?” Peter asks.

Tony gives him a look. 

 

Peter of course, is barred from entering. 

“I told you I should get a fake ID.” he grumbles, crossing his arms.

“No way. I cross the line on a whole ton of things, but this ain’t one of them. Just wait outside for us kid, we won’t be long.” 

“But Mr. Stark-” Peter stops, letting his hand fall from Tony’s sleeve. 

He doesn’t want to say what he’s really thinking, which is that he doesn’t trust Killian as far as he can throw him, and doesn’t want Tony caught up in his trouble so soon after something traumatic that could’ve been triggering had already happened. Especially not in Hurrikane, which is most definitely filled to the brim with booze and almost surely flowing with illicit drugs. But he can still see the tightness in Tony’s eyes and so just tries to smile instead, “Be careful please.”

“Aren’t I always?” he smirks before leaving Peter to sit inside the café across the street to watch. 

Tony’s plan however, is anything but careful. His genius idea involves Killian walking around in a baseball cap stalking the club hoping to see someone he knew from the ring before they recognized him first. 

So, the opposite of careful.

But it’s the best they’ve got. They can’t exactly use the NYPD for a more surgical approach. For starters, Tony’s still suspended. And there’s the little matter of the kidnappers. So a DIY is gonna have to do. 

Tony waits at one of the tables, watching with careful eyes as Killian walks the perimeter of the club. He returns while subtly pointing to a man in the far corner. “You see that guy? In the VIP area with the beard? His name’s Reynaldo. He’s one of the UK suppliers.” 

The man sits at a crowded table, laughing as a girl pours champagne down his throat. Another man beside him adjusts the champagne bucket before getting up to leave. 

Tony raises a brow, “Okay. Is he the one you stole millions of dollars from?”

“Technically, I stole from them all.” Killian admits, “But yeah, he’d be pretty pissed.” 

Tony nods, “Okay, not so much of a coincidence then, that the man you stole from is hanging out in the club that Emily’s kidnapper was in right before she was taken.” 

Killian has a frenzied energy racing through his spine, “Okay so what now??”

Tony stands up, “Now? I ditch you for the bathroom.” 

The bathroom has god-awful lighting and urinals all lined too close together. There’s a Dominican man peeing in one of them and Tony stands next to him fiddling with his zipper. “Nice tats.” he remarks, watching as the man’s brows furrow.

Seeing that he wasn’t going to respond, Tony does what he does best- talks. “I’m Tony Stark, consultant with the NYPD. I’m looking for a kidnapping victim, Emily Killian, and I think your friend Reynaldo is responsible. Mind if I pick your brain?”

The man zips his pants up, moving to walk away, “No habla ingles.” he mutters before Tony catches him by the arm.

“That’s funny. Coulda sworn that knowing English was a pretty mandatory requirement to joining the DEA.” he catches the man’s eyes, “Even the ones deep undercover in Dominican drug cartels.” 

The man’s eyes widen as he rips his arm away, glancing behind him to the door and then at the stalls like ensuring they were alone. He turns back to Tony with questions and a primal defensiveness in his eyes. 

Tony traces circles in the sink counter top, “Oh, you wondering how I know?” he asks airily, “Well, first it’s your skill. I saw you moving around the bucket to check what was behind you without having to turn around. That’s not a street move, that’s Quantico baby.” 

He pushes himself off the counter, walking closer, “Then there’s the tattoos.” Tony raises his hands, “Don’t worry, they’re perfectly thuggish. But they’re all the same age. You’re supposed to get your tats over time. That means each one fades and ages differently, but not yours. Yours look like you did them real quick to fit in with the cool kids.” he smirks, “Am I wrong?”

The man stays silent, but his body is tense like he’s readying himself for a knock-out. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to out you. I just want to find Emily. And since you’re a fed-”

The man finally speaks, raising his finger in the air like a threat, “Call me a fed one more time and I’ll carve out your tongue and feed it to you.” 

Tony raises his brows, “Oooh, touchy, touchy.” he shrugs, “Fine, guess I’ll just go talk to the VIP crew, maybe they’ll be more helpful.” 

He walks past the man, the bathroom door swinging shut behind him. Next thing Tony knows, he’s being thrown to the ground of the club before the man bends down and punches him square in the jaw. Some of the VIP members climb down the stairs, faces fierce but the man raises a hand, “It’s okay! I got it! This asshole just tried to steal my wallet.” 

He pulls Tony up from the ground by his collar before smacking him into the wall. “Sorry about this. But you gave me no choice. I can’t let you blow my cover.” he punches him in the face again and Tony’s head flies.

“I don’t care.” Tony chokes, “Just tell me where to find Emily.” 

The man gives him a body blow and with Tony doubled over whispers, “Nobody in this organization has kidnapped anyone in New York, trust me. Reynaldo, he is the cartel, nothing happens without his say so.” Tony tries to push him off but the man punches him again to keep him still, “The only thing he cares about right now is our turf war with the Colombians. This is the one crime in the city we’re not involved in.” With that, he throws Tony to the floor, kicking him in the stomach for good measure. 

 

When Tony walks out, the first thing he sees is Peter’s wide eyes from the café window before he runs out, leaving his drink and half-eaten croissant behind. “Mr. Stark!” he yells, stopping just an inch away so he can assess the damage to his face and look at the dirt stains along his shirt.

He glares at Killian, taking a step towards him, “What happened??”

Tony rests a hand on his shoulders as though to calm him, “It’s not his fault kid. Relax. I’m fine.” He fishes out the keys from his pocket, gesturing for him to go inside. 

“You’re not fine! You got beat up!” he turns back to Killian again, “And I bet you didn’t intervene did you?” 

“I’m not going to interrupt his work kid.” Killian answers, entirely unapologetic, “You’re better off doing the same too.” 

And though Peter can hear Tony trying to explain that it was all part of the plan, the resentment still broils inside him. “Don’t call me kid. My name is Peter.” he says, before slamming the car door shut.

 

Back at the precinct, Thor’s staring at a particularly broody Captain as he stares intently at their crime board. 

“Tell me Stark didn’t hang around the crime scene today.” Fury demands, looking right at Thor. 

“I’m surprised that he didn’t. Considering he came to the first two he heard about a murder from his little scanner.” 

Fury sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. 

“But I don’t see what the problem is, aren’t you going to unsuspend him soon anyway?” Thor asks.

“Now why would I do that?” Fury presses back, “You’re acting like he did something minor, but he planned to torture and _murder_ someone.”

Thor sits up straighter, “What he did is wrong. But in his defense, he thought H had murdered the woman he loved. That would make anyone crazy.” 

“Yeah, but being crazy doesn’t give us the right to make mistakes like that. We’re the NYPD. We make mistakes like that, then we’re no better than the guys we toss into those jail cells.”

“Captain,” Thor says earnestly, “I’m sure he feels sorry about it. Why don’t you just talk to him about he can do.” he insists.

“You know what he can do?” Fury says, voice low, “Nothing. And I bet he isn’t even sorry. The truth about Tony Stark is that he’s broken. Broken in a way that has nothing to do with whether or not he’s getting black out drunk or not.” 

Fury turns to walk away, but Thor’s voice stops him. “But he didn’t do it. If he’s so broken and volatile, why’d he stop?” 

 

When they get home, Tony puts Peter straight to work to push through his sour mood. His job? Go through Emily’s social media. He starts with her Twitter and while he adores dog videos and #relatable content, even he gets his fill as he reaches six months back. “Mr. Stark, why am I doing this?” 

“Because it might not be the cartel. It could be someone from her personal life.” 

Peter groans, flopping onto the table, “But what about the stamp? And the ash?”

Tony sighs before wincing, his cut cheek opening again. Peter immediately looks regretful, “Oh man, okay wait here. Let me get the antiseptic and some bandaids.”

“Peter-” but he’s already sprinted up the stairs. 

He heads to the bathroom only to find it locked. He sighs, praying for patience as he knocks, “Hey, are you gonna be a while? I need to grab something from the medicine cabinet.”

He hears some shuffling, “Uhh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll be right there. One sec.”

There’s the sounds of more heavy breathing before Killian opens the door, gesturing for him to come in, “All yours ki-Peter.” 

But Peter takes one look inside before he swivels around, eyes flashing. “Are you _kidding_ me right now?” 

A pipe sits innocuously on the window sill where the glass has been slid up. But it doesn’t matter. Killian could’ve taken the pipe with him and Peter still would’ve known what happened from the smell alone. Peter’s fist tightens as he fights the urge to tremble, “You’re in the house of a recovering _alcoholic_ and _drug addict_. What were you thinking??”

Killian looks exasperated, “It’s not drugs, it’s _weed_. I mean,” he throws his hands up, “come on, my daughter’s just been kidnapped, I’m under a bit of strain right now.” 

Peter’s jaw tightens. “I don’t care.” 

He straightens, remembers the way Tony’s fingers trembled as he sent a text to Stephen thinking Peter wouldn’t notice. Tony’s fought so hard and worked so hard and Peter won’t let anyone get in the way. Not anyone. 

Especially not this asshole.

“I want to find your daughter. But I care about Mr. Stark more.” he takes a step closer, eyes hard, “So you’re not going to do drugs in here, you’re not going to drink in here, you’re not going to even _talk_ about either of those things in front of him. And if you _do_ , then I’m going right to the NYPD to turn you in as a drug dealer and a thief.” 

Months ago, Peter would’ve been afraid to tell his high school bullies to stop teasing him, but after the things he’d seen and loss he’d felt, the love he has for the people around him give him a strength he never knew he had. He wants to protect Tony. Do right by him. Help him in the fraction of the way Tony’s helped him. And Tony doesn’t deserve to be dragged down like this. 

He doesn’t. 

Killian looks stunned at his audacity, at his fervor. 

_Good_.

Peter holds out his hand, “Now give me the drugs.” 

Killian scoffs, turning away before Peter’s voice drops, “Give me them or you know what’ll happen.” 

When he looks back, Killian glares, but reaches into his bag to throw a baggie in his direction just as Tony calls both their names. “Come downstairs!! Fast!” 

Peter flushes the contents of the baggie inside the toilet before meeting Tony downstairs. Tony’s already got his shoes on and gestures for them to do the same. “While you were taking forever with the bandaids, I picked up where you left off on her Twitter feed and found something interesting.” 

Peter doesn’t look convinced, “A while ago, she made a tweet saying ‘that awkward moment when the man who used to give you an allowance comes to you for a loan.’”

Killian furrows his brows, “I never gave her an allowance.”

“Her step-dad did.” Tony announces, “Anyway, I cracked her bank password and went through her records. She wrote some cheques to a man name Derrick Hughes, the stepdad-”

“Derrick? But he’s a real-estate guy, he’s loaded.”

Tony shrugs, “That’s why I called in a consultant.” before whipping out his phone. 

Thor picks up a few moments later with some good intel. “According to my friend in the DA, Derrick Hughes was rich, but after the market crash, he had to foreclose on most of his properties. He doesn’t have a criminal record, but he’s broke.”

Tony chews on his lip for a second before he nods, “Awesome, thanks Thor. I owe you one.” 

“Any reason you’re curious?” 

Tony smirks, “Maybe another day Goldilocks. Say hi to the team will ya?” 

 

They end up at another café, Tony sprawled across the chair. “Okay, so Hughes has motive. He was broke. Maybe Emily told him about your theft and he saw it as the solution to all his problems.” 

Killian frowns, “Never liked the guy.” he says, as though that contributed anything constructive, “So what? We just wait here until he gets off work?” 

Tony looks unconcerned, “Well, if he has her, he’ll go to her.” 

Peter nods, “Yeah, that makes sense.” 

From the corner of his eye, he can see the manager glancing at them every now and again. From Tony’s sigh, he knows he sees her too. “Kid, why don’t you go grab us something to eat before she kicks us out tails up.” 

Peter looks between him and Killian before nodding slowly. “Okay. Sure. I’ll grab you a coffee too.” 

“You’re an angel Pete.” Tony praises as Peter walks away. 

“Protective huh?” Killian asks, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.

Tony smiles, “He’s a good kid. A lot’s happened to him recently, so I don’t blame him.” 

Killian pats him on the arm, “Well, for what it’s worth. You’re doing good mate.” he tilts his head, “But it must be like trying to relearn the piano after a stroke huh?”

Tony looks confused, “What is?”

“You know,” Killian says, looking through the café window to see Peter handing over his credit card, “doing everything you do without the,” he lowers his voice, “you know, the alcohol.” 

Tony curls his nose, “Don’t be stupid. Detective work is a science. Alcohol hinders that, it doesn’t help.”

Killian waves a hand in the air, “Yeah, but there’s two parts to what you do isn’t there? I mean there’s the ‘knowing stuff’ part, you got that down pat. But then there’s the _connections_ part. You know, the creative part. That’s art.”

Tony’s brows scrunch together, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Killian shrugs, “Well some artists? They need the alcohol to get creative. Loosen up a little.” 

Tony’s expression sharpens, “Are you trying to say I was a better detective when I was _drunk?_ ” 

Killian’s quick to correct, his voice dropping to a soothing tone, “No, no, not exactly. You’re brilliant Tony. Of course you are. But…there’d be no shame in it would there? It just…it must be hard is all.”

Killian’s looking at him with those convincing, fervent eyes and Tony feels that familiar want. The urge deep inside his blood for oblivion, elevation, a disconnectedness from the world that blared all around him always, an unstoppable cacophony that- 

“Hey, everything okay?” Peter asks, holding out a hot cup of coffee. 

The smell hits Tony’s nose almost immediately and the warmth in Peter’s eyes has his shoulders slacken. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light.

“Uhh, because Derrick Hughes is getting off work right now and you guys are just sitting here??” 

The two men jump from their seats and together, the trio follow Hughes down a couple blocks and into a building with construction boards put up and Don’t Enter signs plastered across them. Tony peeks from around a corner, “Public records show that Hughes bought this building a few years ago. He made a bet on this place gentrifying, but,” he looks around, “obviously he lost.” 

“Yeah, but it’s a great place to hide a kidnapped girl.” Peter frowns. 

They follow inside after they’ve waited a few minutes. The interior is just as abandoned as the exterior, with random wires hanging from the ceiling and building equipment strewn around the space. From the middle of the room, Hughes yells, “I can explain! It’s only for a few days!”

Hearing his voice, Killian glowers, stomping over, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Where is she??”

He storms right past Hughes, pushing aside dividers to find more and more empty space, “Who??” Hughes cries, looking around in confusion. 

“Emily!” 

If possible, Hughes looks more confused, “My daughter?” he stops, “Wait, you guys aren’t with the Housing Authority?”

Killian whips around, “She’s not you daughter!” just as Tony holds up a hand.

“Mr. Hughes, I’m Tony Stark, this is my assistant Peter Parker.” He points, “And that’s-”

But Hughes is nodding like everything is coming together, “No, I know him. From the pictures. You’re Aldritch.”

“Yeah.” he replies aggressively, “And I’m here to take Emily home.” 

But Tony’s shaking his head, rubbing at his temples. “Killian. Stand down. He isn’t using this place to hold her, he’s squatting here.”

“Technically I still own this place.” Hughes interjects before he pales, “Wait, what happened to Emily?” 

Tony’s mouth pulls into a thin line, “She was kidnapped.” 

Hughes’ hand flies to his heart as he stumbles into a work table. “Oh God. Oh God.” he looks horrified, “And you thought that I- that I. Oh God, listen. Whatever you need, please. If you need to search this place, please do. Ask me anything.”

“You took money from her.” Tony states and Hughes nods, too much, but he’s still panicking.

“Yeah- yeah I- I haven’t been doing well.”

“You haven’t been to a nightclub called Hurrikane by any chance have you?”

His lip turns in confusion, “No? I’ve never even heard of it.”

But Killian growls, “He’s lying.”

“Do I look like the kinda guy who’s been going to nightclubs?” Hughes defends and Peter agrees.

“Mr. Stark-”

“Yeah, I know.” Tony interrupts, “Sorry to bother you Mr. Hughes. We’ll be in touch.” 

 

Killian’s still angry that they let Hughes go when they get home when the phone he found in Emily’s apartment rings. The three of them go silent as he presses the call button, putting it on speaker. “Hello?” 

The voice on the other end has that same deep, robotic quality to it. “Did you think I wouldn’t be watching?” 

Killian’s voice shakes, “Wait, what?”

“I told you not to involve the police.” the man says again, “Who are you working with??”

“N-no! He isn’t police-”

Tony grabs the phone from his hand, “I can assure you, I’m not the police. I’m a friend.”

The man doesn’t sound amused, “You just cost yourself twelve hours. I want the money by six p.m. tomorrow or she’s dead.” Peter’s eyes widen, “Oh, and just to make sure you and I understand each other, I’ve left you something outside your kitchen door.” 

The man hangs up. 

When they open the door, there’s a small white Styrofoam box sitting on the step. Tony picks it up, frowning as he sets it on the kitchen table. “Peter,” he says, voice low, “go stand over there.” 

“Mr. Stark I’ve seen dead bodies.” he protests and Tony looks at him with aggrieved eyes before he looks away and Peter knows he’s won. 

When they open the box, Peter almost wishes he had listened. Because lying on white satin is a woman’s severed finger. 

 

The first thing Tony does is put the finger under a magnifying device to match the finger prints to the ones found in Emily’s apartment to prove that they’re a match. Killian’s disappointment is palpable.

“At least we have a clue.” Tony says, bringing Peter over to have him look into the glass.

“It looks like a burn.” Peter murmurs.

“That’s because it _is_ a burn.” Tony confirms, “A distinctive one actually. It matches a floral design found on cast-iron radiators forged at the turn of the century. So she’s probably in a pre-war building chained to the radiator, hence the burn.”

Tony comes up behind him, “Now look under the fingernail, Ethiopian wat. It’s a stew.”

Peter looks incredulous, “You can tell just by looking at it?”

Tony makes a face, “What? No. I tasted it.”

Peter’s stomach heaves, “Oh my God.” 

Tony carries on as though nothing was amiss, “Ok, so obviously, her kidnappers aren’t making her elaborate ethnic food, so we can assume this is takeout. So! If the restaurant is supposedly close, then we can use the historical building permits to figure out where the pre-war buildings are, then cross reference those addresses with every Ethiopian place in the city. That should narrow down the search.” 

“Alright, let’s get started then.” Peter says, pushing off from the seat. 

They move into the screen room where Tony has dozens of screens acting as a united monitor as well as two computers. Before he takes a seat though, Peter can’t help but look back at him, “And how about you? You doing okay?” he asks tentatively.

“Peter,” Tony says, “I’m not going to relapse okay?”

“I know! I know! I just- you just seem really intense.”

Tony gives him a look, “I’m pretty sure you know how deadlines work kid.”

Peter moves to sit down before Tony swivels around, “Actually, can you check on Killian for me? He went downstairs but I haven’t heard anything since, and I don’t want him doing something stupid.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” he replies, devoid of any enthusiasm.

Peter finds Killian at the kitchen table, “You doing okay?” Peter asks.

Killian looks lifeless, “Well, I just saw a piece of my daughter in a box, so no. How about you two?” in his eyes are dozens of questions seeking answers, but Peter has none.

“Tony’s examining the…package we got. He thinks it might help us find Emily.” 

Killian’s face tightens, “He _thinks_ it might help.” he stands, shakes his head, “That doesn’t sound like the Tony I know.” 

A prick of defensiveness grows inside him, “He just needs more time.” 

But Killian doesn’t want to listen, “Yeah? And I need some air.”

 

Peter falls asleep midway through their historical building hunt just as Tony starts playing the ransom video on repeat. Tony gently nudges him awake and tells him to go to his bedroom so he doesn’t hurt his neck. Peter’s so exhausted he doesn’t have it in him to argue and when he tumbles into bed, he’s knocked back out.

Killian on the other hand, comes back into the brownstone an hour later, walking into Tony entranced by the fifty-sixth repeat. “How are you doing?” Killian asks, his voice raspy.

Tony can’t even tear his eyes away from the screen, “I thought we had something with the burn and the radiator and the restaurant, but turns out there are way too many of both of those to be helpful. So I thought I’d go back to the video.” The screen light paints a haunting glow across his face, “See if there’s a detail, a clue to her whereabouts that I might have missed the first time. A shadow, a light, a look, anything.” 

Kilian looks antsy, he hangs in the doorway between the hall and the living room. “You remember the Tinsdale case? The security nut that had more alarms in his house than he had doors? Used to lock himself into his bedroom every night but then died in his sleep, suffocated.” his eyes glow as he gets closer and closer, “You were sure it was a murder even though there was no evidence anyone else had been inside.”

Tony finally looks away from the screen, his eyes looking glazed over, the tiredness finally creeping in, “What?”

“I remember it.” Killian whispers, “I remember I brought you bottles, watched you chug them.” Tony looks up, expression unreadable, “Within a _minute_ , you had the whole thing figured out. It was the maid. She’d left some dry ice under his bed and then it evaporated, turned to carbon dioxide.” 

Killian leans forward, “He died in his sleep, no one the wiser. Except for you. Remember?” he sniffs, rocking on the balls of his feet before pulling a baggie out of his pocket full of white powder, “We don’t have time for scotch today, but I do have this. It’s time Tony.” he jerks the bag around but Tony just watches him.

He tosses the cocaine onto the side table next to Tony instead. “For Emily.” 

Killian licks his lip as Tony’s eyes trail from his hand to the baggie sitting just inches away from him. Tantalizingly close. He watches as Tony’s mouth twitches, his eyes closed. Tony reaches for the bag, rubbing it between his fingers before he lurches up, tackling Killian until he falls into the armchair. Tony’s hands are wrapped around his shirt as he jerks him up just to smash him into the chair again, “Why would you do that?” he chokes, voice pained. 

Killian’s eyes pop, “You’ve needed it the last two days!”

Tony snaps, shaking him again, “NO! I haven’t!” he booms. 

Anger flickers in Killian’s eyes, “Have you even heard yourself recently? The shit you’ve been saying? About maybe finding something you missed? That’s not you, that’s not Tony Stark. This is just some fucking knock-off.” he sneers, jerking his head to where the baggie is still clutched in Tony’s hand, “You need your medicine. Get yourself right.” 

Tony moves to pull away but Killian tugs him back, “Please,” he begs, “please, for Emily.” 

“Let go of-”

The lights burst around them as Peter races into the room, “What the hell is going on??” he yells, running to Tony. 

Tony looks at him, eyes wide as he rips himself off Killian. “Everything’s fine Peter. You can go back to bed.” he says, forcing his breaths to steady.

But Peter won’t be deterred, he glares at Killian, “What did you _do?_ ” 

Peter looks like he wants to yell some more but Tony’s voice shakes, “ _Kid_.” And the pain inside makes Peter’s heart break and he nods. 

“Okay. Okay.” 

“I have to go out for a bit.” Tony says, “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Peter glares at Killian on his way up and almost wishes Tony would leave before he made sure Peter followed through on his request. 

 

Hours later, the sun rises. Tony can’t see it, blocked by the dozens of high rises on his perch for the last while on a city bench. As the first cracks of light break through the sky, he pulls out his phone. “This is Tony Stark. I want to speak to my father.” 

He returns to the brownstone a few more hours after that to see Killian waiting on the couch and Peter making coffee in the kitchen. “Killian,” Tony says, voice even, “good news. You’ll be seeing Emily in an hour.”

His eyes widen, “You found her?” 

“No. I called the kidnapper, told him we’d pay the ransom.”

Killian’s face contorts as he it falls into his hands, “No, No! You know I don’t have the money.”

“No. But I do. Or at least, my dad does. He agreed to loan me two million on the condition I do some errands for him in the near future.” he rolls his eyes, “Don’t know what they’ll be, but knowing dad, probably stealing candy from babies or something.” 

Peter gapes from the kitchen, “You talked to your dad?” 

Killian ignores that question, standing up to reach for Tony’s hand but he pulls away. “I don’t know what to say-”

Tony doesn’t let him finish, using the same professional tone as he’d been using the entire conversation, “I’m going to go meet Emily’s captor at Irwin and two-hundred thirty-eighth in forty minutes. He’ll be in a blue van. I’ll wire the money electronically and he’ll release her.” 

Tony looks up, finally looking at Peter, “Peter, can you bring my tablet?”

Peter nods hesitantly, glancing behind him before he goes to Tony’s room. The second Peter’s gone, the façade around Tony melts and he stalks toward Killian with fire in his eyes. “Let me make something clear. If I had more time, I would’ve found Emily guaranteed. But it occurred to me that more time with you is the last thing I need.” 

The intensity in Tony’s eyes snaps like fire, “The money I got was less to do with Emily and more to do with buying myself a life without you in it. I have a kid now.” he hisses, “A kid who’s relying on me to actually be lucid and the second I mess up, I’ll lose him.” 

Tony’s eyes grab his, “And I _won’t_ lose him. So after today, don’t ever come here again. Do you understand me?”

All Killian can do, is nod.

 

Tony stands on a bridge watching the street corner where the drop’s supposed to happen. There’s a moving truck with three workers lugging out boxes, a woman taking out a bag of trash, and some random bins waiting to be taken out. He spots the blue van driving in the second it appears on the street. 

He marches down the steps, hands in his pockets, eyes dark.

 

Peter’s stuck at home in case the transfer doesn’t go through just waiting idly by his phone when the door bell rings. He opens the door just a crack, “Can I help you?”

The man nods, “Yeah, you can.” he pulls out a badge, “Special Agent Xande Diaz from the DEA. I’m looking for Tony Stark.” 

Peter’s eyes widen. The DEA agent from the club, right. The one who punched Tony’s face so hard he bled. 

Killian comes behind him, arms crossed. 

“I have some info about the girl he’s trying to find and he needs to know right away.” 

 

Tony steps onto the sidewalk, passing by the three movers, the blue van parked just beyond them. He glances at his watch, then back at the van before swiftly turning around, walking fast. The three movers tap each other on the arm, before crossing the street to follow him. From the corner of his eye, Tony sees the gun.

He runs.

He jets into an alley way with a fenced door, left still opened by the woman taking out the trash. He slams it shut behind him, ignoring the clamoring as the men bash their hands into it. As he runs to the other side, he pulls out his phone, “Peter.”

“Mr. Stark?” he asks, pressing the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he heads into the kitchen to get a glass of water for Agent Diaz. 

“It was an ambush. A group of movers were there when I came, but they weren’t wearing workers’ boots. They’re a hit squad. Cartel jockies for sure.” he pants as he climbs the fire escape up, “One of them used the word ‘aguajero,’ it’s Dominican slang for braggart.” Tony grunts as he swings himself over the balcony, breaking a window open with his elbow, “Someone told them to wait for me, someone with pull.”

Peter grips the phone tighter. His waist pressing into the counter top. He hears someone enter the room, “Someone who knew I was investigating Emily’s abduction.” 

Peter hears a gun click. 

“Yeah, the DEA agent.” Peter turns around, staring into a barrel of a gun, “I know.” 

 

Diaz has them tied to the staircase bannisters before he calls Tony back. “I have your friends Stark. They’re alive. But for how long depends on you.”

“Great. Let me just call a ride over and we’ll meet at my place, sound cool?” as he’s speaking, Tony’s running, Peter’s face flashing through his mind.

He was an idiot. A fucking idiot. He should’ve never left Peter alone. Not when there were still loose-ends to tie up. Not when the risks were this high. 

Diaz chuckles, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“You know, speaking of friends, I met some of yours. Didn’t seem to like me much.”

“Yeah, I might’ve told them you worked for a rival gang. But now I realize that sending them after you was a mistake.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I thought the money you were offering was coming from Killian, now I know it was yours.” Tony hums as though he was listening, when instead he’s closing the back of the fake moving truck so he can get into the front seat to hot wire the car. 

He knows he has to keep Diaz talking, the longer he’s on the phone, the less likely he’ll be to do anything to Peter. And the more likely it’ll be that Tony can save him.

“So,” he starts, “I must’ve really scared you the other night huh? Everything I was able to figure out about you.” his fingers fly through the wires as he talks but his lack of focus slows him down, “You thought you’d get me out of the way and then swoop in on the softer target. Get Killian to transfer you the money.” 

Back in the brownstone, Peter struggles to reach his back pocket. He winces as the zip ties dig into his skin but at last he manages to pull out the little paring knife he’d swiped from the kitchen. Tony had always told him to trust his instincts, to follow his gut even when the entire situation called for something different. And the second he heard Diaz step into the room, the back of Peter’s neck prickled. 

Taking advantage of his back being turned, Peter grabbed for the tiny knife, making a big show of having Tony on the line to distract Diaz from him stuffing it into his back pocket. The entire time Diaz was forcing them to tie their own hands together, he hoped the knife wouldn’t stab through his jeans or worse-through him- but it remained remarkably in place until the moment he needed it. 

“Killian,” he whisper hisses, “I’m going to cut us loose. When I do, just run for the door, okay?”

“You’re going to what??” he asks and Peter shushes him, almost regretting telling him.

But Peter was going to save him. No matter how much he didn’t like him. 

Diaz paces around the room as Tony keeps on talking from the other end, “I guess you found out about the robbery after you’d infiltrated the cartel. Of course, they couldn’t find where the money went, but they didn’t have the power of a giant government agency did they?”

Tony pumps his fist in victory as the car starts, “You probably found his name from Emily’s social security info huh?”

“Listen to me,” Diaz hisses, “I want you to transfer the money now. As soon as I see the cash, I’ll let your friends go.” 

Tony snorts, “You just tried to have me taken out execution style, give me one good reason to trust you.” 

But Diaz stops replying as he straightens, turning around to see Killian jumping from his spot, lunging at him. Diaz shouts, and all Tony can hear is a gunshot ring out.

“Peter! Peter!” he yells until his voice is hoarse but there’s no reply. 

In the brownstone, Peter stares in horror as Killian tackles Diaz to the ground, blood spreading all across his stomach from the gun shot. Diaz rolls him over, pulling back a fist to punch him before Peter lurches forward, grabbing the vase lying on the mantle and shattering it against his head. Diaz falls to the floor, limp and Peter scrambles to pick up his phone. 

“Mr. Stark!” he cries, pressing the phone against his cheek, “Mr. Stark I’m okay but Killian- Killian-”

Tony feels his knees almost give out from the relief. He knows there’s still adrenaline in his veins and he’s still racing home to make sure Killian doesn’t die on his living room floor but- Peter’s okay. He’s unhurt. He’s _safe_. 

And that, Tony knows, is the only thing that truly matters.

 

Thor and Fury have Diaz in an interrogation room an hour later. 

“I had nothing to do with that woman’s abduction.” Diaz repeats, “Until just now, I didn’t even know what she looked like.”

Fury narrows his eyes, “That’s funny. Because we got a statement from Peter Parker saying you approached him and the girl’s dad today with information about her whereabouts.”

Diaz curls his lip, “Totally untrue.” 

Thor scoffs, “Okay, then what is true?”

“I’m a DEA agent, I work in the New York faction of a Dominican drug cartel. During my time with them, I became aware of a man named Aldritch Killian, a former employee of the cartel.”

Thor looks unimpressed, “The same Killian you shot this morning.” 

“Yeah. In self-defense.” Diaz sighs, “Look, I saw Killian on the street today, I followed him to a brownstone where he appeared to be staying. I thought he might be useful to my investigation, but when I told him I was DEA, he panicked and attacked me.” he looks solemn, “I had no choice but to restrain him.” 

Thor’s eyes crackle like lightning bolts, “And what about Peter? The sixteen-year-old kid you tied up.”

“I actually am sorry about that. But in the moment, I thought he was with Killian.” he flips over his hands as though to say, what can you do about it, “Anyway, then he freed himself with the knife and Killian lunged at me, so I fired.”

Fury leans forward, mouth drawn together, “I talked to a mutual friend of ours, Tony Stark. I believe you two talked on the phone today.” 

Diaz stiffens.

“He’s in the hospital with Killian right now, and it looks like he’ll pull through. And when he does,” he tilts his head, “whose version of events you think he’s going to agree with. Yours? Or Peter’s?”

Diaz’s voice is cold, “I don’t really give a shit what a known drug dealer has to say. I don’t think a jury will either.” 

Fury smiles, pulling out a paper, “This is from the DA. Tell us where the girl is and he’ll guarantee you protective custody when you’re in prison.” his voice drops, “Trust me, where you’re going, you don’t want to be in gen pop. Especially not when the cartel realizes you were spying on them.” 

Diaz doesn’t crack, just raises his hands, “Look, I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”

“Actually,” Thor interjects, “I think you’re hoping Emily dies. Because then there really is no one who can testify. You might just get away with everything.” Thor flashes him his usual goofy grin, “But it’s okay, we figured it all out anyway.”

“What?”

“Stark’s a pain in our asses, but he managed to narrow down the spots by quite a bit. The apartment you’re doing your undercover stint in? It’s about a half mile from an Ethiopian restaurant.”

Diaz’s fingers curl inwards, “So what?”

“So, there are also exactly five pre-war buildings in a one-mile radius from that restaurant. Anyway, three of those area are abandoned apparently, and my partner is one of those I can do this all day types. How long do you think it’ll be before he finds her?” 

Fury gets up, “For your own good, the faster we find Emily, the better off you’ll be. Because if she dies from her wounds, I’ll personally see to it that you never get out of prison.” 

Diaz bows his head before he nods. 

 

When Killian wakes up, Tony’s standing over him. He groans, rubbing at his forehead before he stops, “Emily. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. They’re finishing up with her as we speak.”

Killian collapses into his pillows, eyes closed, almost trembling. “That’s good.” he whispers, “That’s good.” 

He opens his eyes, “And the kid?”

“He’s okay too.” Tony replies, thinking of that moment he walked through his front door.

The blare of the ambulance gave him a head ache and the flashers covered his lawn with red and blue light. Tony had to push past cops, yelling that this was his home before he saw Peter sitting on the stairway steps. He looked up, and then the tears filmed over his eyes and Tony’s entire heart shattered. 

He expected Peter to run to him, but he remained rooted to the step as though unable to move and Tony looked and knew exactly why. The blood splatter from the bullet drew in Peter’s entire focus, like it had its own gravitational pull. Tony crouched in front of him, gently moving his chin, “Peter,” he said in a quiet certainty, “this isn’t your fault.”

Peter’s head fell back to look at him, eyes helpless and wet, “I let him in. And I cut Killian loose. I should’ve been the first one, I’m faster and-”

“No.” Tony said, putting both hands on Peter’s shoulders so he was forced to look at him, “Everything that happened is that asshole’s fault and mine for not seeing it sooner. If it wasn’t for your quick thinking, everything could’ve gone a lot worse. He could’ve killed both of you. And in the end, you saved his life.” Tony gestured to the broken vase, “It was ugly anyway. At least you put it to good use.” 

Peter sniffed again before letting his head fall against Tony’s chest. “Is he gonna be okay?” he whispered. 

“Killian’s a cockroach, he won’t die like this. Trust me.” 

Looking at Killian now, Tony knows his words were true. “I’m glad you’re alive.” he finally says.

Killian looks almost surprised, “Still never wanna see me again though huh?”

“That’s probably best. But I still wanted to thank you. You took down Diaz before he could,” he purses his lips, “well, do something worse.”

They stare at each other before someone knocks on the door, Peter poking his head in. Tony excuses himself, knows Peter has something he wants to say. Peter twists his hands before looking Killian in the eye, “I’m really glad you’re okay. And I’m sorry my plan got you shot.” 

He shakes his head, “I knew I wasn’t going to run the second you told me the plan Peter.” Killian closes his eyes, “I haven’t seen Tony since he was still drinking and he’s changed now. A lot.” he looks up, “I thought that was bad, because he was being slow on Emily’s case so that night, when you saw him pinning me down, I’d offered him cocaine.” 

Peter’s breath hitches.

“He didn’t take it, which is why he was so upset. But he said something to me that made me realize that a lot more had changed than I thought. So when it came down to it, I knew that Tony would still find Emily and that what I’d done was inexcusable. So if taking one tiny bullet to the liver was enough to save your life, then,” he shrugs, “it is what it is.” 

Peter doesn’t know what to say when the door bursts open and Emily runs through, “Dad!” she sobs and Peter finds himself leaving the room, but not before Killian gives him a firm nod. 

Outside, Tony’s staring at Fury’s contact, finger poised over the call button. He knew the risks he was getting into when he took this case. Knew how bad it would look to the captain, but when Peter walks out, Tony looks at him, thinks about the lengths he would go to if it was Peter in that video. All the lines he’d cross, the enemies he’d make, everything he would do to make sure he came home safe. And knows exactly why he took the case. “Kid, it’s time to go.”

Peter nods and Tony wraps an arm around him, “All those lessons with Stephen paid off. The paramedics told me if it weren’t for you stopping the bleeding until they came, we might not be here right now.” 

“He’s a good teacher.” he shrugs. 

“And one could make the argument that you’re a good student.” 

Peter tries to smile but doesn’t say anything. 

They’re quiet in the car ride home when Tony glances at him, “Are you gonna be alright?”

Peter looks out the window before nodding, giving him a small smile, “Yeah, I’ll be okay. This is the job right?” 

Tony’s hand tightens around the wheel. Yeah, this was the job. But…

Later, when they’re back home, Tony pulls out his phone again, this time calling Fury without any lingering hesitation, “Hey Captain, it’s me.” 

“Stark.” he greets, voice cordial and distant. 

Tony sniffs, rubbing at his nose, “I heard you got Diaz to confess. Congrats.”

“Only took a bit of convincing, but he gave us what we needed to know. Your tip helped.” Fury allows.

“Nick…I’m sorry.” Tony says, and he can almost see Fury’s eyes widen ever so slightly, “What I did was a betrayal of your trust, but I didn’t go through with it and that has to count for something.” 

Fury doesn’t say anything, “You know I’m an asset to the team and you know I do good work.”

“You know that Thor stepped in for you today?” Fury asks, voice even and nonchalant, “Told me I should reinstate you. Even Steve, with all his rule following glory, told me that maybe I was being a little too harsh with you.”

He sighs, “That’s the thing with you Tony. You think you’re this lone ranger who has to do everything on his own, but you _don’t_. I know it was bad for you in London. But it’s different here, isn’t it?”

Tony feels his chest squeeze.

“We’re a team here. And we need team players. I know you’re a genius. I know you’re the best out there. And I know I’d be in some trouble if I banned you permanently but this is my precinct. And I need to know that you’re going to follow through.” 

“I don’t do third chances Stark. And don’t think I’ll ever forget what you almost did.”

Tony bows his head, “I know.” 

“Good. Then have a good night Tony. Because I expect to see you two in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok listen l i s t en
> 
> i have the entirety of this fic planned out now, so updates should be fast but one of the chapters is like- pretty whumpy and idk if we're all fans of that rn because idk how much more i want my boys to suffer before the big finale show down so while the next chapter should come quick, IDK ABOUT THE ONE AFTER THAT BECAUSE I'M CONFLICTED i don't want tooo much drama, but idk idk


	10. The Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I asked y'all if you wanted whump? I thought of something better that I'm keeping for later, so for now, enjoy this mystery before the finale begins next chapter!

It’s September first and Tony is adamant that Peter starts grade eleven at the local high school. “But I don’t want to!” he protests as Tony dumps some oatmeal into his bowl.

“And I don’t care.” 

The typical Tony response.

“What about my detective training!”

“You can still do that when you come home and on the weekends.” Tony says in that annoyingly rational and reasonable way.

“But it won’t be the _same_.” Peter grumbles, adding extra cinnamon to the oatmeal. 

Tony stops suddenly, just looking at him with a serious look in his eye, “Maybe it’s better that way. If it isn’t the same.”

Peter’s expression twists, “What?”

“Peter,” Tony says, setting down the serving spoon, “you almost got shot in our own home. Maybe it’s better if you take a step back.”

Peter gapes, “ _What?_ ” he demands again, “But I _didn’t_ get shot. And everything turned out fine!” 

Tony doesn’t say anything, just takes a seat across from him, “Look Peter, all I’m saying is that it might be good for you to be more of a normal teen. When’s the last time you saw MJ?”

Peter falters, “Well- it’s been hard.”

“And you only saw Ned because he harassed you to go finish your spaceship together.” 

Peter sputters before angrily stuffing a spoon full of oatmeal in his mouth to avoid having to reply. “This is for the best Peter. Trust me. You have your entire life to be a detective.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything, just continues to eat despite the frustration building inside of him. They eat in silence for a little longer before Tony’s phone rings and Peter can see the Captain’s name. “Fury.” he greets, putting the phone on speaker for the both of them to hear out of habit. 

“I’ve got two detectives from the three-five down here. They want to talk to you…about a homicide they’re working.”

Tony meets Peter’s eyes, “Sure thing, we can be there in twenty.”

Fury pauses, “Actually, you should come alone.”

Tony’s brows knit together and Peter feels like the universe really is conspiring against him. “Stop stressing kid. They probably just want to ask a question about a case I closed. Relax.”

Peter crosses his arms, “Nuh uh. I’m being phased out. I’m gonna be completely forgotten and you won’t even care.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “You’re being ridiculously dramatic you know that? You’re not being phased out. I just want you to be safe. Is that so bad?” 

Tony ruffles his hair as he walks out but Peter doesn’t wave back, still sulking. 

This wasn’t fair at all.

 

Fury walks Tony into the conference room where two middle age detectives are waiting. “Tony, this is Detective Cho and Detective Mistry.”

“Nice to meet you two.” Tony shakes both their hands before sitting. 

Cho appraises him, giving him a scrutinizing stare, “We’ve heard a lot about you over the years.” 

Tony flashes his most dazzling smile, “Well the NYPD sure loves to gossip. So what do you need me for?”

Mistry slides over a case file with a photo of pleasant looking young woman paperclipped to the top. “This is Maria Gutierrez. She went missing three years ago.” 

Tony pulls the file in, rifling through the contents, “Last week, her remains were discovered by a city worker in a vacant lot next to Thomas Jefferson Park. It got partially eroded so her grave was visible.”

Cho points to the file, “The ME said she died from blunt force trauma to the head.” 

Tony purses his lip, humming, “Okay, so she worked as a custodian, night shifts mostly.”

Cho and Mistry exchange glances. Mistry leans forward, “So you’re saying you knew her?”

Tony makes a face, “What? No. But look,” he points to the photo, “the hair on her right forearm is a lighter shade than the hair on her left. Ammonia and bleach whiten hair. But if you look closer, the natural hair colour comes back right at her elbow where rubber gloves would most likely end.” he pulls out the rest of the photos, an array of snapshots submitted by the family, “The fact that her skin is lighter than most of her family implies she had a more nocturnal life style.”

Cho shakes his head, “No. No way. You had to have known her.” 

Tony’s brows furrow, “I’m confused. I thought you knew about my methods.” 

Cho shrugs, looking unconvinced, “Yeah, we knew you had a few tricks-”

“They’re not tricks.” Tony cuts him off, “It’s deduction.”

Mistry waves a hand in the air, “Whatever it is, you sure you didn’t know her? Never saw her?” 

Tony blinks, the confusion still on his face when he pauses, turning to look at Fury who looks on the brink of sighing, “This isn’t a consultation. It’s an interrogation.” he states. 

Fury nods.

Tony turns to the detectives, “You want to tell me why you suspect me of the murder of a woman I’ve never seen before?” 

Cho looks all too happy to pass him a crumpled receipt that’s been straightened inside an evidence bag. Written on it in all too familiar writing are the words _Maria, Bryant Park, tonight, 8 o’clock – Tony Stark_

“The receipt is dated on the day she died.” Mistry’s eyes darken, “Want to tell us again about how you don’t know her?” 

Tony stares, an existential type of confusion dancing in his eyes. 

Cho leans back, crosses his hands over his stomach, “I bet you’re gonna say that you didn’t write it.”

“No…” Tony says, voice sounding oddly far away, “that’s my hand-writing.” 

“Then you lied when you said you didn’t know her.”

“No. I didn’t.” Tony looks up, eyes sharp, “I don’t recognize her and I have no memory of ever writing that.”

Cho looks derisive, “You saying you have amnesia?”

Tony looks away, jaw tight. “Worse.” 

He looks at the captain who just gives him the smallest of nods, “Maria died in two thousand and eleven. At the time, I was still a raging alcoholic. And then there were the drugs. A lot of them.” Tony rubs at his forehead, “Blackouts weren’t exactly out of character.” 

“And what about December seventh?” Cho pushes.

Tony’s eyes flash, “I don’t get what you’re not getting when I say I don’t remember.”

Fury raises a hand, “Detectives, at the end of the day, it’s just a note.”

“Yeah, one the victim got the _day she died_. One your ‘consultant’ just said he wrote.” 

The word consultant comes out like it was an insult. 

Fury shrugs, “She was a cleaner. Maybe he wanted to hire her.” 

Mistry pulls his lip, “You said this was a waste of time. That you knew your guy.”

Fury’s voice doesn’t waver. Neither does his stare. “I do.” 

“Well did you know about the blackouts?” Cho pushes. 

But Fury doesn’t take the bait, just gets up and opens the door gesturing for them to go. “You asked for five minutes and I gave you five minutes. If he remembers anything, I’m sure he’ll be in touch.” 

 

When Peter hears Tony arrive, he’s prepped to start another argument, this time with proper points and excerpts from scholarly articles to back him up until he sees Tony’s face. 

He looks lost.

Utterly, completely lost. 

He staggers into the room and falls into the couch, just staring at the wall. “Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, rushing towards him. “What’s wrong?”

But the look Tony gives him is so full of torment that he almost flinches. And despite how much he wants to be there, wants to support him, Peter knows that he won’t open up to him. That’s not what a good guardian would do.

And that, Peter knows, is all Tony’s been trying to do.

“Okay. It’s okay. I’m going to call Dr. Strange. He’ll know what to do.” 

Tony doesn’t fight him on it, which is how Peter knows it’s serious. Stephen promises to come after his class is done and an hour or so later, he arrives at their door. 

Tony’s calmed down somewhat after drinking an entire pot of tea and Peter gives them some space, heading up the stairs. Except, instead of closing his bedroom door, he leaves it open and he knows it’s bad and that he really shouldn’t but…

The story Tony retells makes his heart clench. There’s absolutely no way that he did anything to that woman. No way at all. Peter knows it as surely as he knows anything. 

“Fury should’ve warned you.” Stephen says and Peter can hear the clatter of a cup atop a saucer. 

“Yeah well, it would’ve been worse if he showed me preferential treatment. But he thinks they’re just wasting their time anyway.”

“Of course they are.” Stephen says with the most disdain one could possibly have.

There’s a stretch of silence before, “I wrote that note Stephen. I didn’t have a phone then. I just relied on the street kids passing notes for me. But I wrote it.”

“And what? That makes you a killer?”

“No.” Tony says, “I’m pretty sure my moral compass wouldn’t swing that far no matter how deep I got. But…the alcohol made me paranoid. I could’ve seen threats that weren’t there. The truth is, nothing’s impossible. And that’s…” 

“The unknown for us is terrifying.” Stephen finishes, “And having to cope with the blackouts that come with our pasts is hard.” 

“It’s just shit awful timing. That December…it was just a few months after Natasha...I’d started using more. At first to jumpstart my brain.” Tony scoffs, “I thought it would help me solve her case faster. But at some point, it just turned into a craving I couldn’t shake and then it became a distraction I depended on.” 

Stephen’s voice gets oddly gentle, “Your girlfriend died Tony. And you hit a spiral with no one to help you. But you’re better now. Stronger.” 

“Does it matter? I’m not supposed to intervene.” 

Stephen’s voice is wry, “When has that ever stopped you before?” 

“Never been a suspect before.” 

Tony sighs, “Plus, we’re at a disadvantage. No police files, no evidence, no access to her body. God I- I don’t even know I knew her.” 

“And…What if I did it?” he says in such a resigned voice that Peter can’t help but break his commitment to not intervene.

He lunges down the stairs, shooting into the room, eyes ardent, “You didn’t!”

“Peter-”

“I’ll investigate it. We know her name. And when she died. I’ll start with that.” 

“Peter I promised Fury I’d-”

“Well I didn’t promise anything.” 

Stephen takes a sip of his tea, “Kid’s right.” 

“What?” Tony asks, incredulous, but Peter doesn’t give him a chance to reconsider. 

“You dig through your files. You only ever meet anyone through your work, maybe she’ll be in there. Maybe she wanted to hire you. Or was a witness to a case.” 

Tony looks like he wants to argue but Peter shakes his head, “You didn’t kill that woman Mr. Stark. And I’m gonna prove it.” 

 

Peter starts with the relatives, the cornerstone of every case. He finds Maria’s sister just as she’s walking into her apartment. “Mrs. Sandoval?” 

The woman looks at him suspiciously.

“I’m Peter Parker.”

Her eyes widen as she tightens her grip around her purse, “I know who you are.” 

Peter looks surprised, “Oh, the detectives mentioned me?”

“And your boss.” she says, with the most derision she can muster.

Peter frowns, heart tugging, “I’m really sorry for your loss Mrs. Sandoval. But I promise I’m only here to find out who hurt your sister.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” she snaps, moving away. 

But Peter steps forward, brows slanted in a plea, “Please, can you just tell me how Maria and Mr. Stark knew each other?” 

Gloria looks confused, “What do you mean how they know each other?”

Peter twists his lip, uncertain how to proceed, “He was going through a rough time when everything happened. He’s having trouble remembering.”

She scoffs, “Yes. I’d want to forget killing Maria too.” 

“Mrs. Sandoval-”

“ _No._ ” she repeats, voice low, “You asked me how they knew each other. I don’t know. She was illegal.” her voice drops to something emotional, rough, like she was trying not to cry, “She stayed out of trouble, she did her work. Went to church. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Trouble found her anyway.” 

Gloria stuffs her key into the lock, looking at him with accusing eyes, “Don’t come here again.” 

 

Tony hits the streets the second Stephen leaves; what he’s about to do is not sponsor approved. That he knows for certain. But if he wants to find the truth, he has no other choice.

Tony spots him where he always is, on a curb selling knock offs to people who just don’t care. “Hey it’s nice right! You’re not gonna find quality like that on Canal Street, I’ll tell you that.” the ladies titter away, giving back the handbag. 

“Aww come on, you don’t like the colour? I got it in red!” but the ladies have already walked away. “Hey I got a two for one special!” he yells again, but it’s pointless. 

Tony stands in behind him, “Slow day?” 

Justin Hammer turns around, brows furrowing before he raises the bags, “Don’t suppose I could interest _you_ in a handbag?” 

Tony shrugs, “Depends. Does your supplier always spell Prada with two ‘Ds’?”

Justin snorts, dropping the bags back into the shopping cart. “Been a long time Anthony.” 

Tony’s expression is the opposite of fond, “Not long enough. But I need your help with something.” 

Tony takes him to a diner and Justin orders the equivalent of a feast for them. “I can’t believe it’s been three years.” Justin says, taking a sip of his milkshake.

Tony’s voice is dry, “Yeah, well, time flies when you’re on heroin.” 

Justin’s lip pulls. “You look good Tony. You clean now?”

He nods.

“Well, well, well, look at you.” 

Tony still doesn’t say anything. “But three years,” Justin says, shaking his head, “wow. We had a good thing going on. Me, you. We were a team.”

“Actually, we weren’t.” Tony interjects, voice hard, “I wanted drugs and you had them. You wanted alcohol and I had it.”

Justin raises a brow, “You don’t call that a team?”

“I call that parasitic.” 

“We _lived_ together.”

“No. You stayed over because you had the bad habit of passing out all the time.”

“God, where did it all go wrong.” Justin laments, taking a big bite of his burger.

Tony juts up his brows, “Well, if I remember right- which I always do- you let yourself in one day and stole nine-thousand dollars’ worth of rare books and computer stuff.”

Justin pinches his lips, swallowing hard. “The past is the past Tony.” he clears his throat, “You said you needed my help?” 

“Remember before that whole debacle happened? We were on a binge every day and karma just bit me in the ass because now I can’t remember anything. And no one spent more time with me than you.” 

Justin’s still staring at him like he doesn’t quite get it. 

“I want to know if the name Maria Gutierrez means anything to you. There’s evidence to show I wanted to meet her in December twenty-eleven.” 

Justin looks at him like it’s obvious, “Of course I remember her. Maria? From the circus right? Blonde hair, big-”

“ _No_. That’s Marna. She was a fling of mine. I’m talking about Maria, Justin. Do you remember her name or not?”

Justin stops chewing, shrugging helplessly, “I’m sorry Tony, but you’re not the only one who has trouble remembering those days.” 

Justin wipes his mouth with a napkin, throwing it onto the empty plate, “Well, not that this wasn’t fun or anything. But I have to go. Maybe we’ll do this again sometime.” 

Tony doesn’t stop him, not wanting to spend a single more second with him if he was going to keep being as useless. Tony watches him leave feeling more dissatisfied than before they arrived. “Do this again sometime.” Hah.

“Not likely.” he mutters. 

 

It’s dark by the time Tony enters his neighborhood again. He knows it’s been a while- all day almost- since he’s seen Peter, so he calls him, just to check in. “Kid, how you doing?”

“I’m okay. I just got home a bit ago. Where are you?”

“I thought a walk around my old haunts would bring back some memories, but that was a bust. How about you?”

Peter sighs, “To be honest…not so great. But it’s okay! I’ll pick up again tomorrow.” 

Tony rubs at the bridge of his nose, “Well if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t have anything useful in my files either. If Maria was involved in a crime I was investigating, I didn’t write it down anywhere.” 

Peter’s quiet for a few moments, “You think this could be a frame-up?”

Tony snorts, “Well if it is, it’s a bad one.” 

Peter hums, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But you know, I’ve been Googling her and obviously it’s not the same as police files, but something interesting came up. She used to volunteer at a soup kitchen pretty consistently. Maybe she met some sketchy people there?”

Tony considers that, nods his head though he knows Peter can’t see it. 

“I asked Steve to make a list of some of their frequent users, maybe he can help us out.”

“You brought Steve into this?” Tony asks, feeling weirdly off kilter.

“Of course I did.” Peter replies as though Tony was ridiculous for asking, “He has the database remember? Anyway, he’ll let us know if anyone there had a record.”

“Okay, yeah. That’s great. You’re doing a great job Peter. I’ll be home soon and we can talk about it more okay?” 

“Sure thing Mr. Stark.” 

Tony clicks off the phone and as soon as he does, a man emerges from the shadows behind a car. “Hey, you Tony Stark?” 

Tony squints but he can’t see the man’s face with the poor light and his hoodie casting shadows. “Do I know you?”

He takes a step forward before he’s being shoved into the hood of a car from behind. The first stranger runs into him, landing a solid punch to his face. The two of them attack him with their knees and fists, the car wailing as Tony’s body thumps into it. He grunts, trying to push them off but they’re pressed too close together and his entire body rages in pain. 

He stumbles to the ground and his attackers switch to kicking him relentlessly in the stomach. He can feel his organs scraping together, his head pounding. He groans again, but he’s drowned out by the car alarm. One of the men grabs the other, “We gotta go.” he urges, “Come on, we gotta go.”

The man gets in one last kick before letting his friend drag him away. Tony hears the sound of their footsteps. 

He can feel the blood all over his face. 

It’s warm. 

 

Tony almost manages to sneak into his room without Peter noticing except when that kid was excitable, nothing would stop him from barreling into him so he could ramble to his heart’s content. Tony’s halfway up the stairs after telling Peter he’d be down after a quick shower before Peter’s yelling.

“What the hell happened to your face!! Mr. Stark you’re bleeding!!” there’s panic in every syllable and Peter’s already freaking out.

“Kid, it’s fine- I’m fine.”

“No you’re not! You’re not fine! You look like you just got the crap beat out of you-” he stops, “Oh God.” he slumps against the wall, hand at his mouth, “Who did this to you?” 

“I don’t know.” he raises a hand, “But I promise, I’m okay.” 

But Peter’s shaking his head. “We have to go to a doctor.”

“Peter.”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter says, voice unwavering, “Please.” 

Tony looks at him, gazes locked, before he lets out a breath and walks down the stairs. 

 

“You know, I’d have an easier time examining you if you would stop checking your phone.” the doctor quips, examining the massive welts across Tony’s back and neck, having already checked the swelling and redness of his face. 

“Yeah I bet.” Tony replies, still using his phone, “Luckily for the both of us, all my wounds are superficial.” 

The doctor presses his fingers into his back, “You could have internal bleeding.”

“Negatory.” 

The doctor pulls away, “Well if you’re so sure about everything then why are you even here?”

Tony points to the door, “Kids.” he says, as though that explains everything. “Anyway, a patient who actually needs you just came in. I can hear them. Poor guy’s got a lightbulb stuck in his,” he looks at Peter, “well you know.” 

The doctor looks unconvinced until a nurse runs in, “Doctor, we need you. Foreign body impaction.” 

Tony shoots him a smug look as he leaves. 

Peter walks in, handing Tony his shirt, looking displeased at his general flippancy, but choosing to move on, “So are we gonna tell the cops now?”

“Why would we do that when we don’t need to?” 

“What do you mean we don’t need to?? You were targeted. One of the men called you by _name_. It can’t be a coincidence that you were jumped the same day you were questioned.” Peter insists.

Tony slides off the examination table, “Actually, it’s a hundred percent a coincidence. Though, they’re definitely connected.”

Tony gathers up his things, “Heard of Prentice Gutierrez?”

Peter crosses his arms, leaning against the door, “Yeah. He’s Maria’s brother. I saw his name in the articles I found, but I couldn’t find him today.”

Tony snorts, “Yeah well, he was probably too busy planning an ambush.” 

Peter stops, “Wait, how can you be so sure it was him?” 

“The pick-pocketing helped.” Tony smirks, pulling out a worn wallet from his pocket, “Let’s call it a beat down silver lining.” 

He throws the wallet to Peter, who opens it immediately upon catching it. He can tell from the ID that Tony’s right. “Anyway, being on my phone was crucial because a Google search gave me nothing good, _but_ , a police intranet search did tell me he was arrested for home burglary in November twenty-eleven.” 

Peter’s eyes brighten, “That’s one month before Maria disappeared.” 

Tony points a finger, “Exactly. Prentice told everyone and anyone that he was innocent and,” there’s the faintest of smiles on his face, “you did say she might have wanted to hire me.” 

Peter nods, “She believed her brother. Yeah! You were supposed to find the real thief. I knew it!” he cheers, looking elated.

Somehow, his faith is almost enough to soothe even the most horrific of Tony’s fears. 

Almost.

 

They find the mechanic shop Prentice works at easily enough the next morning. The garage is wide open and Tony and Peter don’t have to walk in to see who they’re looking for. Prentice wipes his hands on a towel, walking towards them, “I know you?” he asks, broadening his shoulders to appear bigger. 

Tony shrugs, “I don’t know. This jog your memory?” he tosses over the wallet.

Prentice catches it mid-air, flipping it open before nodding. “Yeah. I lost this a while ago. Thanks.” 

Tony takes another step, “Listen, I’m not here as the bad guy. I know the detectives told you about me and I know you wanted to get justice for your sister.” 

Prentice shakes his head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Tony looks like the fight just blows out of him. He stands slightly hunched, looking at him with those thick lashed eyes, “You _do_ know though.”

“Just like how you know you’re on parole for that burglary charge.” Peter chimes in, worried about that look in Tony’s eye, “An assault charge could violate you back to prison right?” 

Tony glances at him quickly before gently standing in front of him, “But it would be worth it right? To hurt the guy who hurt your sister?” Tony’s expression is tense but open, “And neither of us can say for certain that it’s me.” 

Prentice scoffs, “Yeah, because you don’t remember right? Or at least that’s the bullshit you tried to sell to my other sister.”

Tony ignores him, “The burglary. You said you didn’t do it, you know who did?”

Prentice stiffens, tilting his head like he was egging for a fight, “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” 

“I think your sister wanted my help to find that person. And whoever _did_ do the robbery would have had a motive to keep her quiet.” 

Prentice shakes his head, his breaths coming in hard, “No. No you stay away from me and my family. Both of you.”

He glares at them again before stalking off inside his shop. Peter touches Tony’s arm, “We can go back to the precinct, check to see if any of the robberies match. We can do it without him.” 

But Tony isn’t listening, just staring into the shop with a glint in his eye. He pulls out of Peter’s grip, stalking inside. 

Prentice makes no notice. 

“So I’m right, you _do_ know who did the burglary.” 

Prentice keeps working, “You can either leave now or I’m calling the cops.” 

Peter bites his lip, “Maybe we should go…”

But Tony has that look, he points to the tray of tools, quirking a brow, “You know, any one of these bad boys could’ve killed me last night. But you jumped me barehanded.” 

He shrugs, “So you didn’t want to actually kill me, just rough me up.” he pauses, picking up a wrench, twirling it in his hand, “Wanna do it again?” 

Prentice gapes, turning around. “What?”

“I feel like I’m making it pretty obvious. But alright. You answer my questions,” he holds out the wrench, “and you get to use this on me.”

Prentice’s eyes widen, he shakes his head ever so slightly like he isn’t sure what’s going on. 

Tony’s voice gets louder, “You’re not sure I killed Maria huh? If you want to know who _did_ , I’m offering you a once-in a lifetime deal that I’m _guaranteeing_ you would have line ups if I posted it online.” 

Prentice is still rooted in his spot looking at Tony like he’s crazy. Almost the way Peter is. “Mr. Stark stop it!” 

But Tony’s too far in, too committed. He waves the wrench around, eyes sizzling, “Come on! Do it! Break my bones! Get back at me!” 

Prentice grabs the wrench, raising it above his head just as Peter has a “No!” on his lips before Prentice roars inside his throat, throwing the wrench onto the floor. “I did it.” he mutters, “I did the burglary. And Maria knew it. I told her so-” his finger points to Tony but trembles in the air, “so you’re wrong. Okay? About her wanting to find the person who really did it. If she wanted your help,” he sighs, shaking his head, “it didn’t have anything to do with that.” 

The tension in the air throbs for a moment before Tony unclenches his shoulders and Prentice rubs at his eye like trying to calm himself down. Tony though, just looks lost again. And Peter can see the old fears creeping up inside him. “Okay. That’s a dead end.” Peter says, heart still hammering in his throat “But did she ever tell you about people who wanted to hurt her? Someone who scared her?”

Prentice seems more cooperative now, like all the built up resentment inside him had just fizzled out of existence. “You know she cleaned right?”

Peter nods.

“The year she went missing, there was a guy she worked for that owned a couple of buildings in Queens, and one of them was being rented by a councilman who was running for re-election.” he rubs at his head, “Uhh, Barclay. “

“Yeah, she told me someone there was hitting on her. Made her uncomfortable.” 

Peter pulls his lip, “Okay, did she tell you his name?”

Prentice looks away, “No. Because she was worried I’d do something stupid. And you know what?” he looks up, eyes fierce, “She was right.” 

He picks up the wrench from the floor, looking at it with a mourning Peter’s familiar with. He sets it back on the rack. “I told the police about the guy but they said it didn’t go nowhere. That the guy had an alibi.”

“According to them.” Tony finally says.

Prentice catches his eye, nodding slowly, “According to them.” 

 

Barclay’s office is exactly like every other councilman’s office in the city. Neutral coloured walls, the odd leafy plant, dozens of desks crammed together and a busy office with one giant American flag to drive home how patriotic he was. The photos on the wall however, reveal more. “Look who’s buddy buddy with the police department.” Tony murmurs, turning to Peter, “I’m starting to think the creepy date-starved guy was less a dead-end and more of a do not approach.”

Peter’s voice drops, “You think it was a cover up or something?”

Tony doesn’t look too sure, “Well like I said to you before. Big groups of people can’t keep secrets. A conspiracy is just what we need to find a lead.” 

Peter nods but doesn’t say anything, just has this quiet reserve in his eyes. “Were you going to let him do it? Maria’s brother.” he finally asks, unable to look at him.

Tony breathes out, the plethora of feelings all broiling inside of him fighting over which got to burst when a young woman walks over to them with a pleasant smile, “The councilman will see you now.” 

Tony’s never been lucky, but he’s always been blessed with well-timed distractions. 

Councilman Barclay is just another middle-aged white man in a suit and America enamel pin. And alright, maybe Tony is the same but at least he’s funny. 

Barclay sits at his long mahogany desk, hands folded atop of it. “Maria was sweet girl, but I didn’t know her well.” he says, brows slanted in lament, “I spent a lot of late nights here during campaign season so I’d see her when she came in to clean. She’d always ask if I was doing okay.”

Tony glances around the office as he talks, noting all the photos on the wall and odd award here and there. 

“When Maria was reported missing, I’d hoped she’d just gone back to her country but,” he shakes his head, “I’ve been around way too many cops to believe that.”

Tony doesn’t seem moved by his words, jumping right into the meat, “I was told there was someone harassing her here that was cleared as a suspect.” 

“Yes, that’s right.” Barclay frowns, looking uncomfortable, “Look, I’m sorry, but I was advised not to talk to you.”

Tony looks completely void of emotion, “Because I’m a person of interest, right, right.”

“Obviously, what happened to Maria affected us, even though she wasn’t part of the team, so I’ve been keeping tabs on the case.” he says by means of an apology.

“If you knew all that, then why did you even agree to see us?”

Barclay perks up, “I couldn’t _not_ take up a meeting offer. I’m a huge fan of yours. Someone mentioned your work on a case once and I looked into you,” he smiles, looking almost excited, “the more I read, the more impressed I was.”

He gives Tony a nod, “If you say you didn’t hurt Maria, I believe you.” 

Tony looks a bit taken aback, slightly off guard, but nods almost hesitantly, “Thanks.” 

Barclay glances at the door before leaning in closer, “The man you’re talking about is my deputy press secretary, Tom Graves. He propositioned Maria on several occasions, though I wasn’t aware of that until the police questioned him.”

“And then they cleared him.” Tony repeats.

Barclay leans back, hands up as though to say what can you do, “He had an alibi. He was out of state the night Maria went missing. There was even video proof.” At Tony and Peter’s expressions, Barclay raises his hands again, “I still fired him of course. Don’t want men who don’t know how to handle a no working around here.” 

He flashes them a well-practiced politician smile. 

Peter sighs, murmuring to Tony under his breath, “So much for the cover up.”

Barclay shrugs, “Like I said, I’m a fan of your work Mr. Stark, I know you make a habit of catching things other people have missed. I’ll give you everything I gave the police when they came around. If it really was Tom, I’m sure you’ll nail ‘em.” 

 

When they get home, Peter heads up for a shower and when he returns, he finds their collage wall half-full with relevant case info. 

Peter’s jaw drops, “Is that _you?_ ” he asks, pointing at a particularly blurry photo of Tony looking like he was falling.

“It’s one of the only photos I have of me from those days.” Tony says by way of reply, “I took it by accident when my phone flipped to selfie mode.” 

“Mr. Stark-” Peter starts before Tony raises a hand.

“I’m not wallowing okay? I’m just part of the case.” 

Peter stares, “What? Of course you’re wallowing! You’re being the _king_ of wallowing! First you tell Prentice that you want him to _break your hand_ and now you’re here putting yourself up like you’re a suspect when you’re _not!_ ” 

Tony has that look back in his eye and Peter knows it’s killing him to even be having this conversation with him right now. “Look, I know you want to protect me and I know you don’t even want me working cases anymore but this is- it’s too much. It’s not right.” he finishes, jutting out his lip.

“You have no idea what could have happened.” Tony says quietly. 

“But I know you!” 

“I know you,” he repeats, “and you would never, ever murder someone.” 

Tony looks up, “I almost did.” 

“But you didn’t.” Peter repeats, firm and unwavering.

Tony shakes his head, “You don’t know what I was like back then Peter- it, it was-”

“I don’t care what you say, nothing will convince me that you did this.” 

The tension in the room heightens and Tony’s eyes flash, “Okay. Fine. Maybe I didn’t kill her. Best case scenario, my hands are clean. In that case, Maria came to me for help. Maybe someone was following her, maybe someone had threatened her, maybe she saw something she shouldn’t have.” Tony’s voice picks up and his erraticism with it, “In the end, my _incompetence_ is probably what got her killed, so tell me it’s still not my fault.” 

Tony’s eyes snap to his and Peter doesn’t know what to say, just stands there before Tony realizes what he’s done and drops his face into his hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- shit.” 

Peter goes to reach for him when his phone rings. Both their attentions divert and Peter accepts the call on speaker. “Steve?”

“Hey Peter, I ran that list of regulars from the soup kitchen that you were asking about. We got two dozen hits with arrest records. I’m emailing them over.”

“That’s awesome. Thanks Steve.” 

“Just a heads-up, none of them jump out at me, but they’re all probably worth talking to. I’ll come help you guys out tomorrow, I already cleared my morning-”

“Go take yourself out for lunch Cap,” Tony says, having already accessed Peter’s email and scanned through the names, “I found my connection to Maria.” 

 

Tony makes sure Peter’s asleep when he sneaks out of the house. He had promised to take Peter with him the next day, but even has he said it, Tony knew that he was lying. He doesn’t want Peter anywhere near where he’s going. 

The apartment building is filthy, paint peeling on the walls, a stain that looked like it had never been clean, and doors that were about as flimsy as cardboard. Tony knocks on the door, hard. 

“Go away.” Someone groans. 

Tony glares. With one good shove, Tony’s broken through the door, enjoying every splinter that goes flying. “Hey man!” Justin yelps, kicking off from the mat he had on the floor of the closet-sized studio, “You broke my door!” 

“That was the high light of my goddamn day you son of a bitch.” 

Justin groans, flopping back onto his pillow, “G’way man. And leave money for the fucking door.” 

But Tony just growls, grabbing him by his collar, forcing him to look him in the eye, “You lied to me when you said you didn’t know Maria Gutierrez. But you did know her. You were a regular at the soup kitchen she volunteered at.” 

Justin rolls his head around and Tony can smell the alcohol on his breath, “What? What are you talking about man?”

Tony shakes him again, “St. Lucia’s. Don’t tell me you never ate there.” 

Justin puts his hands up and slowly Tony moves back, “Yeah, yeah, sure I did. But you think I remember every person that worked there?”

“What I think, is that a connection between you and the woman I’m accused of murdering isn’t a coincidence.” Tony seethes, “And I think your _lie_ about it is suspect.” 

Justin groans, curling into himself on the mat, “Come on Tony, _please_. I’m sick.”

“No. You’re in heroin withdrawal.” Tony says coldly, “Which is good. It’ll make it harder for you to fucking to lie me again.” his voice drops, “Where were you the night that Maria disappeared?”

Justin laughs, something crazy in his eyes as he forces himself to sit up, “Oh my, oh my, you think _I_ did it?” he bursts out laughing again, “Come on Tony, that’s crazy.” 

“Tell me about the note.” Tony insists again.

“What note??”

“The one found in Maria’s purse. The one that said I was going to meet her.” 

Tony glares until Justin stops laughing, straightening up. “You really don’t remember do you?” he whispers, almost disbelieving. 

Tony sucks in a breath, “Remember what?” 

Justin shakes his head, shoving him in the chest. “You killed her man.” 

He laughs again, when he sees Tony stumble back, “Yeah! You! I bet you felt pretty big huh? These last few years. Big genius guy working with the police all pretty and sober.” 

Tony still can’t say anything and Justin shoves him again, anger casting shadows over his face, mouth curled into a snarl, “Only you weren’t, were you?? Nooo,” he coos, “you had _dirt_ on you. _Blood_.” 

He sneers, “You always thought that you were better than me. Even when you were using, but now,” he nods, over and over, “now you know that you’re not. You’re _worse_. Because I might be a deadbeat junkie but I never killed anybody.”

Tony shakes his head, trembling, “You’re going to tell me everything that you know right now Hammer or I swear-”

Justin scoffs, “Yeah sure, okay. You got a pen too so you can claim I did it? Nah. They only have a note on you Tony.” he gets close, so close Tony can see the flecks of grey in his eyes, “Be thankful that’s all they got and just go home and forget about it.”

Tony pushes him away. “This isn’t over.” he promises.

“It better be!” Justin yells, “It better be, or I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in jail! You hear me??” 

Tony all but runs out of the complex, hands buried deep in his pockets. He knew that if Peter were here he’d try to convince him to turn Justin into the cops so they could interrogate him, because he’d be sure he was lying. 

But Tony knows better. In that condition, Justin was easier to read than a picture book, it would’ve been impossible to lie. Not to him. Which meant- Tony’s breaths come in ragged, he can barely stand.

Justin believed what he said. Truly believed. 

Tony knows that for a fact. 

 

Tony doesn’t sleep that night, just sits staring at his wall of photos trying to think of anything and coming up with nothing. When it’s around the time Peter usually wakes up, Tony gets up to the kitchen, puts together a breakfast of scrambled eggs and whatever fruit they had in the fridge. 

Peter’s surprised when he comes down to a full spread. “Oh man this is great, I’m starving.” 

He settles into his seat, wolfing down the food and Tony can’t help but be caught watching him, just…looking at his ridiculous bedhead that could only be cured with gel and the way Peter liked to mix everything in his plate together and just…

Tony looks away.

“About yesterday,” he starts, “I’m sorry I freaked you out. With the wrench.”

Peter stops eating, just looks at him with acceptance and care and Tony has to swallow the lump in his throat away, “It’s okay.” Peter says quietly.

“No. It was…” Tony sighs, “It’s like I’m being tortured,” he says, “going through my old life again. And everyone in the world can relate to feeling guilty, but,” he looks at his hands, “not everyone can relate to feeling ashamed.” Tony purses his lips, about to say more when the doorbell rings.

Peter’s brows furrow but Tony knows in his gut who it’ll be. He walks to the door slowly so he can tell Peter things he needs to know before he can’t anymore, “Peter. I went to go see Justin Hammer last night. He didn’t do it. But he thinks I did.” 

He hears Peter’s hitched breaths but Tony won’t turn around. 

Can’t.

He left Peter once before and it’ll kill him this time to see his eyes when he has to leave him again. 

When he opens the door, Tony’s fears are proven right, “Detectives.” 

“Mr. Stark.” Mistry greets.

Peter runs behind him, looking afraid, “What’s going on? Why are they here?” 

Tony takes a breath, “Peter, everything’s gonna be okay.” he says, even as he holds out his wrists.

“Tony Stark, you’re under arrest for the murder of Maria Gutierrez.” Cho leads him down the brownstone steps, “You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.” 

Peter stands in the doorway, heart pounding in his throat. He wants to yell and run and rip Tony out of their grips, but he knows that he can’t. But when Tony catches his eye after Cho ducks his head into the car, he can almost feel his heart break in two.

Tony didn’t kill anyone.

Peter knows it. 

His hand clenches into a fist.

He _knows_ it.

 

Tony calls Steve the second he sees Tony turn the corner. He’s at the precinct half an hour later and Fury takes one look at him before ushering him into the conference room. “I called some friends at the three-five, but all they’d tell me is that a new witness came forward.”

Peter doesn’t believe it, “What? Someone said they saw Mr. Stark kill her??”

“No.” Fury shuts the door, “They said they heard Tony threaten her life a few days before she disappeared.” 

Peter shakes his head, lips tight. “I don’t believe it.” 

Steve uncrosses his arms, “It doesn’t matter what we believe. The guys at the three-five do, and right now, that’s all that matters.” he turns to Fury, “I don’t suppose you got the name?”

“Damn guys are playing it right. Keeping it under wraps. Tony isn’t a cop. But he’s close. They have to protect the case.” 

Peter grits his teeth, feeling helpless and stranded in a situation he doesn’t know how to navigate. 

“Peter, how about you two? Any luck with that list?” Steve asks.

“Yeah…” Peter bites his lip, “There’s this guy. Mr. Stark used to know him from…before. And uh, he was on the list but…he didn’t do it.” 

He takes in a breath. He knows what he has to do. 

 

Peter finds Justin’s home easily enough, he waits at his door for an hour or two before Justin walks down the hall, rolling in a giant cart. “Who are you?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. All you need to know is that I work with Mr. Stark.” 

Justin laughs, “Aren’t you a little too young to be in the consulting game?”

Peter doesn’t answer. His expression stays flat. 

Justin stops laughing, “Well what do you want? Here to repair the door your boss broke last night?”

Peter straightens to his full height, “No. I’m here because I know you’re the witness that got Mr. Stark arrested.” 

Justin looks confused, “What?” 

“I need to know what you told the cops.” 

Justin raises a hand, “Wait a second- just wait. Tony’s in _jail?_ ” 

Peter’s voice drops, “Don’t mess around with me Hammer. Mr. Stark told me you thought he did it and then the day after he sees you he gets arrested? That’s not a coincidence.”

But Justin doesn’t even seem to be listening, he’s shaking his head, gripping his hair, “No. No, this is bad. This is really, really bad.” 

Peter frowns, “What are you talking about?” 

Justin stops his fidgeting, eyes wild, “You don’t get it. If Tony’s in jail. It’s bad for _both of us_. Yeah I threatened him last night, but the last thing I wanted was for him to get arrested.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, “How is this bad for you?”

“Look,” Justin’s hands go up like he’s placating him, “I didn’t do it. He did. But he can take me down with him.” 

Peter’s brain starts to hurt, the confusion blending with his anxieties and fears, “Look I need you to tell me what the heck is going on so I can help you. But first, you need to tell me why you think Mr. Stark killed Maria.” 

Justin stops, “I can do you one better. I can show you.” 

 

Justin leads Peter away from the apartment into a sketchy part of town with an abandoned building made of red brick and old wood. It’s convoluted, giant, and Justin leads Peter down winding hallways in search for the promise of proof. “Tony was right. I did lie. I knew Maria from the soup kitchen. She was pretty and treated me nice, so I used to brag about knowing a hot shot private eye. She’d always laugh me off but one day she said she needed his help.”

Peter remembers his original theory, hope brimming inside him, “Do you know what for?” 

“No, she said she’d only tell Tony. So I went to him, told him I knew someone who wanted to talk to him. But Tony…he’d been in a bad way, had been for weeks. But he said he’d meet her.”

“Is that why he gave her the note?” Peter presses.

Justin shrugs, “Look, I don’t know about that, but I guess so. A few days later, I hear she’s missing. So then I went to go see Tony and he was wasted. Just full out plastered. He’d passed out so deep I couldn’t wake him up.” 

They stop in front of a room with no door and Justin drags a little stool into the middle of the space where he pushes up a grate in the ceiling. “And obviously I search through his place to find whatever the hell he’s on. But instead of his stash, I find this.” 

He pulls out a worn garbage bag and hands it to Peter. With a clenched jaw, Peter opens it up to find a light blue and white striped dress shirt with a blood stain all along the chest and a pair of pants with more of the same. 

“Look,” Justin says, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think he meant to do it. He was probably just confused. One night I crashed at his place and when I woke up, he had a knife to my throat yelling about how I was a spy.” 

Peter still can’t look away from the shirt, his neurons firing faster than he could keep up with, “So what? You hid this here to protect him?”

“To protect us. I had a record. I set up the meeting. For sure the cops would make me an accessory. So I hid it. And I never saw Tony again until a couple days ago.” 

Peter shakes his head. “But why didn’t you just get rid of the bag?”

Justin scoffs, “And lose out on my insurance policy? No way. I thought if he ever came after me about the stuff I stole, I’d hold this over his head.” 

But Peter isn’t listening anymore. For the first time in days he finally has proof of everything he believed. He whips out his phone, dialing Steve’s number.

Justin looks stressed, “What are you doing?”

“Calling my friend at the precinct.”

“What?? Are you insane? If you show them this stuff it’ll be the end of Tony. You get that right?” 

Peter grabs the bag tighter and walks away. “You’re wrong. This is gonna save him.”

 

Peter sits in the waiting room for Tony to get out of holding. When he sees Peter, he can see the shame and regret fight in his eyes before he smiles instead, “Hey Pete.” 

“Hey Mr. Stark.” his lips curl into a smile, “How the tables turn huh?”

Tony snorts, “Told you I’m not a role model.” 

He sits down, hands clasped over the table, “So, was it Hammer who was the super convenient witness?”

“Actually, no.” Peter pulls out two photos, one of the shirt and one of the pants, “He had found these clothes at your place a few days after Maria disappeared. He thought you were wearing them when you killed her.” Peter grins, “But look, the sizes are wrong and the bloodstain pattern is one that matches a stabbing.”

Tony nods, a light that had dimmed finally reigniting in his eyes, “Maria was killed from blunt force trauma to the skull.” 

He stops, “You think this is evidence for a completely different crime.” 

The energy is back in Peter’s voice when he agrees, “Maria told Hammer that she had a problem and needed your help. What if these,” he taps the photos, “were the problem? Maybe they were at your place because she _gave_ them to you.”

Peter’s eyes are forgiving and caring and so full of faith it’s blinding, “Maybe she knew about a murder and found these as proof.”

“But instead of going to the cops she went to me?” Tony asks, barely able to believe it.

“She was illegal, she was probably scared. Either way, the killer found her, Justin took the clothes, and you forgot you ever had them.” Peter’s eyes soften, “Look, I know this doesn’t make you feel better about forgetting Maria, but…you were trying to help her.” 

Tony gives him a half smile, but he’s too caught up in the existential relief to say more.

“Steve and Thor are looking into stabbing deaths around the time Maria disappeared. If we can find one that connects to her in any way, we might be able to find the real killer.” 

“You should look into missing persons too.” Tony finally says, some of his usual strength back in his voice, “They hid Maria’s body, maybe they hid the first victim’s too. But,” his eyes glint, “I can narrow down your search.”

Peter tilts his head, “You can?”

“I recognize that shirt, but not from a year ago. That shirt has a double cuff at the wrist, the inlay of the buttons is distinctive, and I’ve seen it recently.” he grits his jaw, “Actually, I’m pretty sure I know exactly who’s behind this whole thing.” 

 

Peter and Steve go to the campaign office the next day. They’re already waiting inside when Councilman Barclay arrives. “Ahh, Detective Rogers,” Barclay greets, “nice to see you again. We met at a fundraiser right?”

“That’s right sir.” Steve smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“And you, you’re the kid with Stark right?”

Peter nods. 

“Mr. Barclay, there’ve been some new developments in the case and we wanted to discuss them with you.” Steve says.

“Of course, come in.” he gestures for them to join him in the office. 

“A new witness came forward telling the police he saw Tony threatening Maria.” Steve starts, voice even.

Barclay looks shocked, “Are you sure?”

“We’re sure. Is the name Eddie Bynum familiar to you?” Steve asks.

“No…I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because he’s the witness.” Peter answers, “He’s also the site foreman at Hatano Construction. You know his boss, Matthew Hatano. They did a lot of the Section Eight housing developments in your district the last few years.”

“O-kay.” Barclay says like he’s really trying to ask a question. 

“You steered a lot of business their way,” Steve starts, “at least a couple million. If you asked them for a favor, it’d be pretty hard to say no. Even if that favor was to lie.” 

Barclay stops, leans back in his seat, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re trying to get at.” 

Steve ignores him, “So you don’t know Eddie Bynum, but what about Kelsey Prior?” 

Barclay’s getting irritated, he shakes his head as though disbelieving of their audacity, “Detective, I don’t know what you intend right now, but I want you two to leave. I need to place a call with the Commissioner.” 

Steve raises a hand, “If it’s about us being here, I’ll save you the trouble.” he cocks his jaw, “He knows.” 

Barclay stops, looking at him with narrowed eyes. 

“Kelsey Prior, Councilman. You knew her right?”

“She was the wife of a dear friend.” he answers, looking to the side.

“She was also stabbed to death in her home in December twenty-eleven.” Peter says, voice low, “It looked like a robbery gone wrong, only it wasn’t. One of her friends thought she was having an affair but none of the detectives could find evidence of that. I guess you were pretty careful.” Peter juts out his chin, staring Barclay right in the eye, “You had a lot to lose after all.” 

He sputters, “This- this is ridiculous.”

Steve leans forward, “Is it? Why don’t you tell us what happened? Did she try to break it off? Threaten to expose you? What could she have done that justified you stabbing her to death?” 

Barclay doesn’t answer, his cheeks devoid of all colour.

“You had her blood all over you, so instead of going home to your wife, you came here. To your office.” Peter accuses, “You told us you spent a lot of nights here. You probably had a change of clothes. The only problem was, you weren’t alone.” 

Peter’s eyes harden, “Maria saw you getting rid of the evidence. Maybe you took it somewhere and she followed you or maybe you dumped it right here. Either way, she got it.”

“But something went wrong, you wanted to move the clothes again, or maybe get rid of them, but when you went to find them, they were gone. And then you thought of Maria.” 

Barclay shakes his head, hand going for his phone, “I’m calling my lawyer.”

“Go ahead,” Steve gestures, “but before you do, just know that we have the clothes.” 

“You were right by the way,” Peter says, a victorious half-smirk growing on his face, “when you said Mr. Stark could find things no one else could. He remembered seeing a picture when we were here the other day. You’re wearing the same shirt. Obviously, that doesn’t connect you to Maria’s murder, but it does connect you to Kelsey’s.”

Peter leans back in his chair, “But it’s okay. Because when you stabbed your friend’s wife, police determined that the killer’s hand slipped over the hilt leaving a blood sample at the scene. When they get a sample from you, I have a feeling the DNA’s gonna match.” 

Steve stands, “Between that and Eddie Bynum telling us his boss put him up to give a false statement, you might want to tell your lawyer he has his work cut out for him.” 

Barclay can’t even respond, just stares at them. 

Peter looks back, eyes defiant. 

 

When Peter returns home, Tony’s already there. A free man again. “Welcome back.” Peter smiles, bending down to give him a quick hug. 

“I think I have you to thank for that.” Tony says with a wry smile, “So tell me all about it.” 

“Well! The ‘witness’ folded pretty quick, his boss too. And when the councilman saw what had happened, he confessed too. He killed Kelsey Prior and then a few nights later, he killed Maria.”

Tony sighs, “Yeah, the same night I met with her. Was he following her?”

Peter shakes his head, “No, he never knew about you. What he did, he did after you two met. He went to her place but she wasn’t there so he called and said he could explain everything. That it was just a misunderstanding. He lied to her and said that if she came, he’d pull some strings in the department and get her brother off the burglary charge.” Peter curls his lip in contempt, “He manipulated her and got her to agree to being picked up at the Frobisher Motel in Bayside.”

Tony’s eyes widen and Peter looks at him with a gentle smile, “Yeah. I recognized the name too. From your old case files. I know you hid at least two witnesses there when you thought they were in danger.” 

Tony’s breath comes in heavy, his lashes flutter with a ripple of redemption.

“You thought you missed something. Something you wouldn’t have if you were sober. But Mr. Stark, you protected her.” 

“I still forgot her.” he says quietly.

He takes a breath, “But thanks kiddo.” 

Tony gets up, ruffling his hair before letting his hand rest atop his head. Peter looks up at him from behind Tony’s arm with a bated breath. 

Tony smiles, “You did really good today Peter. I’m proud of you.” 

Peter glows. 

“Does that mean you’ll let me be your partner again?” he asks.

“Peter, you have to go to school-”

“No I know! I know, but look what I found.” he pulls out his phone, showing Tony a link to a school that offered flexible arrangements for students with special needs and time restraints, “It’s called INDEC, it’s an independent learning school and I basically work from home and I only have to go to class once or twice a week and I _promise_ that I’ll actually go and I won’t miss them. Even if something cool’s happening.” He looks up, bats those bambi eyes again and Tony groans. 

But then he thinks about it. Peter’s a stubborn kid, if he wanted to be a part of Tony’s world, he’d be a part of it. And Tony would rather him do it with Tony watching out for him and knowing his schedule than Peter having to fib his way to get what he wants. 

“I’ll look into it.” Tony allows, trying not to smile as Peter whoops, “But if, _if_ , I pick this school, you promise to keep your grades up?”

“Yeah. Of course. Absolutely.” 

“Because I want you to go to college you know. And you’re gonna need some fantastic grades to get to where you deserve to go.”

Peter nods profusely, “I will! I promise!”

“And you won’t skip class?”

“Unless there’s an emergency.” Tony opens his mouth but Peter waves his hands around, “Come on! That’s fair! What if you’re in trouble!” 

“Then Steve’ll save me.” Tony drawls.

Peter shoots his hand up, “And I’ll be back up!” 

Tony grabs Peter’s hands from the air, steadying him, “Peter. That’s why I want you in school. I want you _safe_ , not as back-up.”

“Mr. Stark come on. I’m valuable, you know I am! I’ve helped you solve all the cases we’ve worked on so far, you can’t treat me like I’m useless.” 

Tony’s brows furrow in disbelief, “Useless? Pete. That’s the opposite of what I’m saying. You are valuable. The _most_ valuable. But you have a lot of your own life to live before you get caught up in all the chaos of mine.”

But Peter looks at him, determined, “We’re family now Mr. Stark. You’re valuable to me too you know.” 

There’s a long pause before Tony sighs, “I’ll think about it okay?” 

Peter nods, knowing when to let things be. 

“And right now, all I want to do is grab some take out and enjoy my freedom with a bad movie with you, but there’s something I have to do first.”

He turns around, looks back at Peter, nods, almost as though to himself, and leaves. 

 

He finds Justin in the first place he looked for him. 

He looks surprised, “Tony! You got sprung.” 

Tony ignores the greeting, “You ever tried quitting?”

“Quitting what?” Justin replies, turning his back to him in full admission that he knew what.

Tony stares at him and Justin groans, “Come on Tony, rehab’s for quitters.” 

Tony rolls his eyes, gesturing to his mound of fake handbags and his ratty jacket, “Oh and quitting on alllll this is just a nightmare.” 

Justin doesn’t say anything until Tony hands him a business card, “What’s that?”

“It’s the contact info for a place, Hemdale, you have a standing reservation there, everything covered.” 

Justin makes a big show of taking it, “Oh wow, how kind.” he drawls.

“Actually, it isn’t.” Tony’s voice drops, his eyes growing cold, “I can’t think of a single person on this planet that I detest more than you. I always have. You were never anything more than a sickening means to sickening end. And I want to just walk away and never come back but I feel like that would make me just as shitty a person as I was back then.”

“A year ago, you helped drag me down into the pits of my worst traits. But,” Tony flicks his head, “I did the same to you. So I came here to make it right.” 

Justin still won’t say anything, just staring at the card like it disgusts him. Tony lets out a breath, “Go, don’t go. But trust me,” his eyes are almost aglow, “if I ever see you again, it better be because you want to change too.”

He turns around just as Justin shouts, “Hey!” Tony twists just to see him rip the card into pieces, throwing them onto the ground, “You’re going to see me again! You can count on it! Only the next time,” he laughs, sharp and bitter, “you’re gonna be the one coming back to me. Right back down here.” 

Tony clenches his jaw but he doesn’t say anything. 

He won’t see Justin Hammer again. 

He’s done with that life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But is Justin done with Tony...
> 
> Anyhoo! Guess who comes back next chapter!
> 
> Also, I just want to say that INDEC is a real school, my mom went to it and so shout out to my mom for having a wack life and inspiring my solution to how Peter can be a full-time detective at sixteen bless you <3


	11. Liar, Liar

An old man with a white beard and full nose sits on a couch in the dark, scrawling in a leather bound note book. The door opens and a man’s voice fills the condo, “Don’t forget to remind me to call a meeting of the Endowment Committee tomorrow.” A set of keys clatters into a bowl, “Uh huh, great. Thanks Beverly.” 

The kitchen lights flick on as the man pours himself a drink. The older man watches him quietly, pulling his laptop onto his lap and pressing the space bar. Immediately, the man in the kitchen clutches at his heart, his back seizing as he crumbles to the floor, gasping for air. 

The older man lets go of the space bar and the relief in the air is palpable. The man reaches for his phone but the older man just shakes his head, “You don’t need to call for help.” 

The man’s eyes widen as he scurries backwards in shock.

“You’re not having a heart attack.”

“Who- who are you?” the man wheezes. 

“Just someone who’s been studying you.” the older man replies, his voice slow like honey, “You’ve been dependent on a pacemaker for the past seven years. That’s what’s doing this to you. Or rather, I am. See?” he presses the space bar again, just a for a few moments and watches as the man writhes in pain. 

“Yes you see, every pace maker has its own unique identifying number, if you have that, well…” he shrugs, “Then I can do whatever I want.”

“Wait!” the man throws his hand out as though to reach him, “Stop! What do you want?”

The older man pulls his lip, “Oh nothing really. I’m perfectly content to watch you die, but.” he sighs, “I’m not here on my own agenda.” 

He looks at the man, “Cast your ballot.”

The man’s expression twists in shock, “My ballot? _That’s_ what this is about?” 

“Yes. That’s what this is about. Vote to revoke and I’ll be on my way.” 

The man raises an arm as though surrendering. He gets up slowly, “Okay, okay. Here.” 

He walks to the kitchen table, types his password into the tablet before accessing a site that demands yet another password and identification code. The question appears on the white screen, VOTE TO RENEW PROPOSITION 384.

He clicks Revoke. 

“There! There!” he shows the older man the screen. 

The older man nods graciously, “Thank you.” he says, before dialing up the frequency and hitting the space bar again. 

The man dies in minutes. 

When the paramedics come, it’ll look just like a heart attack.

 

In Newgate Maximum Security Prison, just out of the city, inmates crowd around the old boxy TV as the basketball game plays. They cheer as a player shoots a perfect three-pointer before the crowd quiets as someone new enters the room. Clint Barton strolls in with chains around his wrists and ankles, the only one even remotely restrained. Definitely the only one with two guards on both his sides. He sits on an empty bench in the front, leaning back so he can tell the guy behind him to, “Change this garbage for the archery match!” 

The man leaps to fulfill his request, switching the channel despite the boos by the crowd. “No not that one, the other one.” Clint yells, frustrated.

The inmate clicks to the next channel, a news segment detailing the death of a well-known philanthropist, a Philip Van Der Hoff, before passing it again for the match. The boos get louder and Clint turns around roaring, “You’re giving me a headache! And no one wants to see that. You!” he commands, turning back to the TV guy, “Put it back to the news.”

The room quiets. 

The anchor woman stacks her papers together before continuing the story. Clint’s eyes narrow. Philip Van Der Hoff…

He knows that name. 

 

Peter walks into his home with the lights off, finding it eerily creepy until the back of his neck prickles and he whips around to see a man in a ski mask staring menacingly at him in the dark. “Tell me where Stark is and I’ll letcha live.” 

Peter’s eyes widen, his hand rushing to the side table where they keep the pepper spray before the man scoffs, “Looking for this?” he asks, spraying some at his feet. 

Peter makes a face, “Well yeah, but sorry gotta run!” 

Peter jets off into the hallway before he trips on an invisible wire, face-planting onto the floor with a groan. He panics, twisting around to kick at his attacker before the man stops, ripping off his mask, a look of incredulity on his face, “Are you for real?” 

“ _Mr. Stark??_ What the hell!” Peter yells shooting up to glare at him.

“Excuse me! You were just held at _gunpoint_ in this house and your self-defense is god-awful.” 

Peter sputters, his hands at his head, “That’s not how you teach self-defense!!”

“Obviously not. Because you failed.” 

“I didn’t-” Peter stops, then scowls, “you cheated.” 

“It’s not cheating, it’s stimulating real life conditions.” 

Peter glares, “Well stop stimulating. Just put me in karate like every other helicopter parent. God, take me back to when you bought me three different lunches for my first day of school.” he snipes, before registering what he just said.

Well- it was _true_. Tony was reckless and emotionally challenged and a disaster more often than not. But on Peter’s first day, he drove him to school, gave him twenty pep talks, said he was proud of him, and then demanded to hear all about it when he got back. And Peter had whined and complained and batted off his over-bearingness but the truth is, it was nice. 

He felt cared for. 

But he didn’t have to go ahead and say it. 

Especially not with the ‘P’ word. 

He freezes, unable to look Tony in the eye before he coughs, “At least I had a one liner.” he mumbles.

If Tony notices what he said before, he doesn’t show it, just rolls his eyes, “Right. Because that’s all that matters. I need to find you a teacher.” 

Peter’s saved from any more humiliation when Tony’s phone rings, “Captain!” 

“Stark.” 

“What’s up?”

“Clint Barton, remember him?” Tony tenses, “He’s been up at Newgate since he was arrested. Just got out of solitary a day ago and I don’t know if all the quiet jogged his memory, but he’s saying there were more people he was ordered to kill. Victims he never told anyone about.”

“Should we throw him a conscience party?” Tony snarks.

Fury’s voice is serious, “He wants to confess Tony. But he’ll only talk to you.” 

Peter catches Tony’s eye and already feels like this day is going to go horribly.

 

Tony waits inside the prison visitor room until Clint walks inside in chains. He drags himself one foot at a time until he can slide into the chair, raising his wrists so that the guard can handcuff him to the table, “Thanks Will.” Clint says, “You really know how to go easy on the hands.”

He turns to Tony, smiles wide. “Tony Stark, how ya been?”

Tony doesn’t say anything. 

Clint frowns, “Alright, be like that. Either way, I’ll still tell you what you want to know. Because boy do I have something juicy. Because you and me, we have the same goal.” 

Tony raises a brow, “This about The Spider again?” 

“Shh!!” Clint spits, leaning in closer, “He’s got eyes and ears everywhere. You can’t trust anyone. And duh, obviously it’s The Spider. It’s his fault your girlfriend died and it’s his fault that I’m in this shit-hole getting jumped by guys he sent to kill me instead of my cabin in the Caribbean.” 

Tony weaves his hands together, “Are you even aware that no one can validate your claims about The Spider? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I heard you had a victim list.” 

Clint smirks, “And I heard that a fat guy in a suit came down the chimney every Christmas to give me presents. But when I staked it out to steal the loot, the miser never showed.”

Tony rolls his eyes, getting up as though to leave when Clint jerks his head, “Will! Show him the article.” 

Will sighs, reaching into his pocket to give Tony a folded piece of a newspaper, “He had me cut this out.” he says as explanation.

Tony unfolds it to see the headline, ‘Philip Van Der Hoff Dead’. “That wasn’t an accident.” Clint announces.

Tony makes a face, “He died of a heart attack.”

Clint sighs dramatically, “Ye-ah, but you’re not paying attention. Before I got set up and you caught me, that guy’s name was next on my list. I got a text with a picture of that man’s face and the order was, ‘string him up just like the others.’ So _now_ , you find who killed Van Der Hoff, and you’ll be one step closer to The Spider himself.” 

Tony purses his lips, staring intently at the newspaper before looking at Clint, who shakes his head dramatically, “You give a guy everything and he can’t even say a thank you.” 

“Can’t a guy be skeptical anymore?” Tony asks, eyes measured.

Clint’s face goes serious for the first time, “This isn’t Santa Stark. When you stake this guy out, you’ll either find him or he’ll find you. And you don’t want him finding you.” 

Clint looks at him like he’s trying to convey something altogether different, “Will.” he calls, pulling at his cuffs.

The man comes up behind him, unclipping him from the table and Clint stands. He turns to the door before pausing, twisting his head, “Oh, and one more thing. When they ask you what happened here today, keep it quiet.”

“What happened…?” 

Clint winks, “Gotta fly free.” 

Tony stands abruptly, “Get away from him!” he shouts but his warning is too late.

Clint has his cuffs around Will’s neck faster than Will can react. The snap is gruesome, even amongst the yelling of all the guards flooding the room. “Too late!” Clint cries, “Too late! No point of a doctor!”

He’s jerked up, dragged out of the room, but not before he turns his face, pressing a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture to Tony. He sings all the way as he’s hauled out, laughing as he does. 

 

Tony’s called into a meeting with Fury almost immediately after the incident. Peter’s waiting for him at the station and Tony can tell he’s worried. “So let me get this straight,” Fury starts, “the guards said he had a finger to his lips like he was telling you to be quiet? What for?”

“No idea.” Tony answers quickly, shrugging.

Fury looks at him, but doesn’t press him on it, “Well, we’re glad you’re okay. I’ll take your statement, send it to the Warden.”

Tony nods, gesturing for Peter to follow him out. But the second they’re out of Fury’s sight, Peter taps him on the arm. “We need to talk.”

Tony raises a brow, “Pushy, pushy.” 

They pick the conference room and Peter crosses his arms, “You know that you’ve been training me to spot a liar, right?” 

“I remember my own curriculum, yes.” 

“Well then you shouldn’t be surprised to know I caught your tell.” 

“Not a tell. A feint. To test you.”

Peter doesn’t look impressed.

“Okay fine. The truth? Barton told me that The Spider was behind that guy’s death, the one in the news. He said he was supposed to have done it before we got in the way.” he juts out his lip, “I was going to tell you, you know. Just not here.”

“But why not? They could help.” Peter asks, confused.

“Barton is nuts. Fully off his rocker. I need to verify that what he’s saying has even an ounce of credibility before I go involving Fury and the rest.” Tony claps his hands, “But! It should be easy to figure out if there was anything suspicious about the death.” 

“How? You have the autopsy?”

Tony frowns, “No. He was an old guy with a known heart condition. They didn’t do one. _But_ , his body was released to the mortuary this afternoon. He’s going to the Carter Brothers’ Funeral Home.” 

Peter makes a face, “So…what? We send flowers and a card? Sorry for your loss! By the way! Might be murder!!” 

Tony scoffs, “ _No_. I have a better idea.” 

 

“Your better idea was _breaking in??_ ” Peter hisses, as his flashlight casts creepy shadows all along the inside of the mortuary. 

“Oh please, the security here is so lax it’s barely a B&E.” 

“You say that like you’ve done this before.” 

Tony’s silence has Peter whisper-shrieking, “Seriously??” 

“Hush child.” Tony commands, opening the drawers until he finds the right one, “Perfect, he hasn’t been embalmed yet. “

Tony drags the body out of the drawer, pulling the gurney out into the open. He turns on the examination light, pulling down the sheet to uncover the torso. Peter points at the square stitching above his heart, “Okay, well he obviously had a pacemaker. So the heart condition checks out.” 

Tony frowns, examining his hands, “No defensive wounds, no skin under his fingernails.” 

He flips over his palm to reveal odd purple bruises, “Ahaaa.” he breathes, before quickly checking the other hand to see the same thing. 

“Look at these. Exactly four small bruises on each palm.” he nods like piecing together a narrative, “He clenched his fists so hard they left bruises.” Tony explains, demonstrating with his own hands. 

Peter’s lip turns, “Okay, but why would he have done that?”

Tony shrugs before he’s whipping out his phone.

“Tony, it’s one in the morning.” Stephen sighs.

“But you’re awake.” 

“Of course I’m awake. It’s only one. What do you want?” 

“Listen, if a guy had four purple bruises on the insides of his palms from clenching his fists too tight, how does that happen?”

There’s silence before Stephen hums a little in his throat, “That’s a common sign of electrocution or getting hit by lightning.”

“Yeahhh that’s not really on the table. What about heart attacks?”

Peter can practically see Stephen’s nose curl, “Never heard of that happening.” 

“Well, isn’t that fascinating.” Tony murmurs, “Thanks doc, see you Tuesday!” he says cheerfully before hanging up in the middle of Stephen’s “Wha-”

“Okay, well let’s get on with it then.” Tony announces, slapping on a pair of medical gloves. 

Peter’s eyes bug, “On with _what_.” 

Tony picks up a scalpel, raising his brows.

Peter raises his hands, backing a meter away, “No. no way.”

“We _have_ to.”

“We can’t do that!! We’re not- we’re not qualified!”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Well it’s not like I could follow up that call to ask Stephen out on a friendly trip to the mortuary.” 

Peter looks at him, scandalized.

Tony sighs. 

“Relax, it’ll be fine. I’m sure he’d want his killer to be found.” 

“Won’t someone notice??” 

“Psht, you think anyone cares about their job that much? They’ll just assume the hospital did it. Or maybe a paperwork error. Either way, you really think anyone’s going to think two people broke in to do an illicit autopsy in the middle of the night?”

“Of course not! Because it’s so crazy!” Peter insists.

“Peter, if you’re gonna be a killjoy, go stand in the corner.”

Peter gapes, looking affronted before huffing, stomping over to where Tony’s pointing. 

He lets Tony do what he has to do, face blanching as he hears the knife inserting into Van Der Hoff’s skin. It’s all so gross. So very, very gross. But it’s the stupid police department’s fault for not doing the autopsy themselves. 

“Okay,” Tony calls, “no sign of broken ribs. I mean, I can’t see the heart, I’d need a rib spreader for that and that’s probably excessive-”

“Probably??” 

“-but…hmm.” Tony stops, peering closer at the body, “That’s weird.” he mutters, “Super weird.”

Interest piqued, Peter looks up from where his gaze has been glued firmly to the floor, “What is it?” 

“It’s his blood…it coagulated and the capillaries have literal bubbles burnt into them. It looks like his blood boiled.”

“Like, literally boiled?” 

Tony looks up, “Literally boiled. That’s not normal.”

Peter sighs, throwing himself backwards into the chair, “Great. The crazy assassin guy was right.”

 

Tony’s still examining all the photos he took of the guy’s chest when they get home. “This is crazy.” he says, looking almost fascinated. 

Peter winces, “It’s gross.” 

“Well yeah. But the marks on Van Der Hoff’s hands are all consistent with electrocution and his blood boiled from the heat of the electric shock which was directly on his heart. How can you do that?” Tony asks rhetorically, with intentional dramatic effect, “Ironically, using the thing that’s keeping him alive as a weapon.” 

“Not be that guy, but couldn’t it just have malfunctioned?” 

Tony thinks about it before shaking his head, “No way. They malfunction only six percent of the time and look at this article I just found. It’s about the same company that made our dead guy’s pacemaker. They’re releasing a new device that can’t be hacked. That obviously implies that the old ones _can_.” 

Peter frowns.

“It makes a lot of sense kid. Think about it. If you have the pacemaker ID, you basically have the key to the system. You could program it to do whatever you want, _including_ giving an electric shock big enough to induce a fatal heart attack. So subtle it wouldn’t even look like murder.” Tony pauses, thinks about what he said. 

Peter slips his head between the crook between his crossed arms, “So we really _do_ believe the crazy assassin guy?” 

“Lighten up kid, we get to catch a murderer.” 

“Okay. But can we sleep first?”

 

Peter wakes up to the smell of coffee. He stumbles downstairs to see Tony dressed and ready for action. “Kid, how much do you know about the Prohibition?” 

Peter yawns, rubbing at his eyes, “I mean, the normal amount I guess?”

“I figured. So you know that America banned alcohol for a decade but obviously, us being us, we figured out a way to get drunk anyway using underground saloons called speakeasies.” 

“Mr. Staaaark,” Peter groans, “I thought we were solving a murder not having a history lesson.”

“It’s _related_.” Tony insists, “Van Der Hoff was a member of New York City’s Landmark Protection Council, it was his responsibility to determine the landmark status of historical buildings in the city.”

“Oh.” Peter straightens, “You think that got him killed?” 

Tony looks contemplative, “Well, we know the council was reviewing the landmark status of the Taggart Speakeasy Museum. It’s an old grocers with a speakeasy in the back and apparently, it’s been preserved exactly as it was in the twenties.” 

“Okaayyy.” Peter drags, still not getting the point.

“The owner of the property though, is a shell corporation that just applied to have the landmark status removed. Which is good because?” Tony looks at Peter.

“Becauuuuse…” Peter brightens, “So they can develop it! Oh man MJ would love this case.” 

Tony clicks his tongue, flashing finger guns, “Exactly. They applied three times and got rejected but the interesting thing is that every time they voted, more and more members changed their vote to their side. And! More interesting- or corrupt- but tomato tomahto, every member that changed sides applied for a home remodeling permit right after and in each case, that renovation was done by Robert Baumann.” 

Peter scrunches his mouth, “I recognize that name. From the news right? The one with the really white teeth?”

Tony snorts, “Yeah, that’s the one. You know him because he builds skyscrapers but here he is doing kitchen renos.”

“Well, if _you_ were gonna bribe someone wouldn’t you go for new cabinets too?” Peter stares pointedly at their old and definitely not pretty cabinets.

“Rude.” 

A pause, “But yeah alright. Maybe some new light fixtures, knock down that wall, it would really open up the place.”

“Should we become members too?” Peter teases.

“Petey, I’m rich. We just have better things to do. Moving on! We can assume the redo guy’s the one who wants the landmark status gone but he had a problem. He was one vote away from winning, until two nights ago when Van Der Hoff switched his vote right before he died.”

“What? You think shiny teeth killed him?”

Tony shrugs, “Wouldn’t hurt to ask him would it?” 

Peter gets up, stretching his back, “Great, let’s go!”

“Freeze!” Tony commands, crossing his arms, “Did you do your homework?”

“What!”

“Don’t you have an English essay due?”

Peter’s expression gets extra dramatic with the woe is me behavior, “Mr. Stark there’s a conspiracy murder involving the guy that you thought killed your girlfriend only to reveal there’s actually another guy behind it all and we’re on a quest to find him in some convoluted Sherlock Holmes type case and you want me to do homework?” 

“Yup.” 

Peter throws his hands up, “Fine!” 

Tony waves goodbye. 

 

In another part of the city, the old man slides open the window of a non-descript apartment. He slides in an air-conditioning unit before moving to the window beside it. He sticks his head out, holding a vintage stopwatch in his hand. 

On the street, a man in a brown coat leaves work yelling into his phone, “Because it’s Baumann and Associates and _I’m_ Baumann! And _you’re_ the associate!”

The old man glances at his watch and at just the right moment, tips the air conditioner over. 

A passerby screams when she sees the blood gush from Baumann’s head as he lies dead on the sidewalk. 

 

Peter’s partway through his third paragraph when Tony calls him and tells him to come right away. “Baumann died because an _air conditioner fell??_ What is this, The Good Place?” 

Tony seems weirded out with him, “That’s what it looks like kid, so get over here will you.” 

The crime scene is flooded with officers and cars and Peter has to push his way past to meet with Tony who’s staring above the body into the buildings, “The thing fell from that window there.” he points.

“That’s crazy.” Peter says, looking down at the gruesome impact.

“Yeah…crazy.” 

Tony has that weird look in his eye again and Peter stops, “You think the killer did this.” 

Tony pulls his lip as though to say ehh and Peter gapes, “Do you know how good you’d have to be to pull that off? The timing, the physics genius, the weight consideration and- and wind!”

Tony cocks his head, “I was told once I was pretty good at physics.”

Peter only understands what he means by that when he hears a giant crash the second they get home and Tony leaves his sight. He scrambles out the back door, looking down to see a smashed air conditioner on the grass and Tony standing with an entirely different one in the upstairs window. 

“Are those ours??” Peter yells, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare.

“I already ordered new ones, we can use fans for tonight.” 

Peter sighs, before looking back at the broken unit, “Well?” 

Tony looks rather pleased with himself as he sets the second air conditioned on the ledge, “It’s not that hard honestly.”

“Okay, but can you kill someone?”

Tony points down, “I hit my X.” he says, grinning. 

Peter looks and sees that there is, indeed, a chalk drawn X, and the air conditioner had landed perfectly on target. 

“So I got it on my first try, and yeah it’s stationary, but I think a few more goes and I could definitely hit a moving person. Peter, I think this is the most interesting case we’ve had in a while.” 

Peter crosses his arms, “And you wanted me to do homework!” 

 

They reconvene in the living room where their crime collage has been expanded considerably. “Okay, so what do we know?” Tony starts.

“Obviously Baumann couldn’t be in charge of the speakeasy scheme, but he _was_ in real estate.” 

Tony taps his lip, “Maybe he was hired to facilitate the introductions on behalf of the actual mastermind then got an AC unit dropped on him for his trouble.” 

“Okay, but why?” 

“Money’s always a big one. He was getting a cut and the payer didn’t want to share anymore.” Tony suggests. 

Peter shrugs, still not liking it, “I guess so. The payer being the shell corporation who owns the museum.” 

“Yup. Untraceable shell corporation, a scheme to make millions by revoking landmark status of a speakeasy, and murder by home appliance. He’s definitely not boring.” Tony pauses, glancing at the wall again.

“He being The Spider?”

“I really don’t want to admit that yet. But… This killer does the same work Barton did, but he’s not obvious. He’s subtle. Wants his murders to look like they aren’t murders.”

“But then how do we catch him?” Peter frowns. 

“First, I’m going to clean the bits of metal everywhere before one of us forgets and slices our feet up. Then, obviously, we’re going to plan a murder.” 

“Right. Obviously.” 

 

Tony leads him to the TV room after he’s done cleaning where a news clip of a brunette plays. “As New Yorkers, we need to be vigilant about preserving the landmarks that make our city great. When we give away a piece of our history, we give away a piece of ourselves.” 

Tony pauses the clip, “That passionate woman is Hillary Taggart, an attorney and the last living relative of Al “The Prawn” Taggart- the guy who owned the grocery store and speakeasy. She’s an advocate for preserving the museum exactly as it is. The only advocate that I can find actually.” 

“Well everyone’s passionate about something.” Peter shrugs. 

“This passion might just get her killed.” Tony says darkly, “This was produced during the last vote and every time a vote comes up, she gets herself as much media attention as possible to speak up on the building’s behalf. So obviously, when she finds out how the vote went down this time…”

Peter’s forehead creases with worry, “She’s going to be a target.” 

Tony nods, “If I was a money hungry sociopath, I’d want to get rid of anyone who was taking too close a look at business deal. Especially if it involved two murders.”

“Mr. Stark, we have to warn her.” Peter says, urgent and afraid.

“Absolutely not.” 

Peter’s brows crease in disbelief. 

“If we’re going to protect her, we have to watch her. To find out how to keep her alive, we have to find the best way to kill her.”

 

In the brisk fall air, Tony and Peter hide behind trees with a pair of binoculars as they watch Hillary Taggart go through her morning jog in the park. “Hillary Taggart is unmarried, works at a legal aid clinic, then spends the rest of her time volunteering.” Tony says like he’s reading off a list before he cuts off, looking around, with an odd expression on his face.

There’s the sound of buzzing bees, other joggers, a couple laughing, but nothing Peter finds out of place, “Mr. Stark?”

Tony shakes his head, turning back to him, “Nothing. Anyway, and beyond that, she jogs.” 

He takes the binoculars from Peter, looking closely at her, “Oh, and one more thing.” he says, an odd note in his voice, “She’s wearing a medical alert bracelet.” 

Tony looks behind him again, “Oh great.” 

“What? What?” Peter asks, shaking his arm.

“Medical alert bracelets are for things that bring anaphylactic shock, like some type of food, medicine, and insect bites.” 

Peter looks confused, “Yeah so?” 

Tony gestures for him to follow him, leading them into the woods, “I thought I was imagining it, but I’m pretty sure I saw an Africanized honeybee- the most aggressive kind of bee by the way. Which is weird because they don’t belong here at all.” 

They hop over logs before the buzzing gets louder and Tony’s eyes widen in fascination, “Peter, murder is wrong but damn if this guy isn’t good.” 

There, sitting in the bough of a tree, is a giant hive. 

“Africanized bees aren’t native to this part of the country and look there,” a metre away, hiding in the brush is a plastic bowl, “Someone obviously planted them here, on a route they knew Hillary Taggart took, and even left them sugar water so they multiply faster.” 

Peter looks around, looking slightly underwhelmed and also unimpressed, “Isn’t this like, the most convoluted way to kill someone? What’s the guy gonna do? Poke the hive every time Hillary runs by and hope the bees attack her instead?” 

Tony shrugs, still examining the scene, “He could have planned to swipe her with lemongrass oil beforehand to make them attracted to her.” he looks up, “It’s actually pretty brilliant.”

But Peter’s still skeptical, “Is it though? Because if she has a bracelet, won’t she have an EpiPen?” 

“Even if she does. Those are meant to work for one or two stings. What are they gonna do against a literal army of bee assassins?” 

They watch Hillary run by, still safe for another day. 

“Come on, whoever planted these bees has to come back for them. Soon probably, the sugar water’s getting low.”

“I can’t believe we’re staking out bees.” 

“Detective work isn’t all interrogations and chasing. You should know that by now. But hey, at least there’s a nice restaurant across from here. We can grab something to eat while we wait.” 

It’s only when it’s gotten into the late night that a question dawns in Peter’s mind, “Mr. Stark, when we catch this guy…you’re not gonna…”

Tony looks at him, “Am I gonna torture and then kill him? No.” he slides down the bench a little more, “No, I’m over that kinda thing.”

“So we’re turning him into the police?” 

“Well, no.” 

Peter frowns.

“We’re gonna take him back to our place and I’m going to ask him who murdered Natasha. And no,” Tony says, before Peter can ask, “I won’t be doing anything crazy when I find the real killer either.”

Peter pulls his lip, looking Tony in the eye, something vulnerable but fervent shining through, “I need you to promise me. I-” Peter looks away before forcing his gaze back up, “I don’t want to lose you Tony. Not to jail or to the courts or to a killer either. So promise me.” 

Tony swallows hard, not breaking his gaze as he nods, “I promise kid.” 

Tony’s lip quirks up, “And not a minute too soon, look who decided to join the party.” 

Peter looks up to see the shadow of a man refilling the bees’ water. Tony gets up, a giddy grin on his face. “Excuse me!” he shouts, “We’re with the NYPD, we need to take a look at your notebook.” 

The old man turns around, shock evident on his face as Tony grabs the book, flipping through to the end, “Interesting, you’re trying to track the trajectory of a falling AC unit.”

“So? You’re going to arrest me for doing physics?”

Tony looks up, grins, “Nah, we’re not gonna arrest you.” 

The taser hits the old man square in the chest. 

 

The old man wakes up in the middle of Tony and Peter’s living room, strapped to a chair, unable to move. Sitting across from him, an ungenuine Tony, “Morning! Hope you slept well.” 

The old man blinks, twisting his head around but seeing nothing of use. “So because our time is valuable, I’m just going to cut to the chase.” Tony pulls out the man’s notebook, throwing it to the floor, “We know your name is Daniel Cooper, you retired from your career as an engineer eight years ago, and you’re now a killer for hire for your mysterious boss.” Tony’s eyes glint, “Let’s call him The Spider.” 

Cooper stares at him, silent.

“We know that you have ties to the deaths of Phillip Van Der Hoff and Robert Baumann.” Peter says from his place in the corner couch. “And we also know that you have a bunch of encrypted texts, the exact same type as the ones found in Clint Barton’s phone.”

Tony tilts his head, “So I’m proposing a bargain. I go out of the room, I send a text from your phone saying something’s wrong, I’ll demand a face to face meeting with your boss. And here’s where you come in, if you can tell me everything I need to know about The Spider before I get a reply, I’ll tell my friends at the NYPD to give you special treatment in prison.” he shrugs, “Or don’t say anything and see where you’ll end up.” 

Tony gets up, gesturing for Peter to do the same. “I left a bell for you at your feet. Just kick it around when you want us.” 

The door closes behind them and Peter rocks on the balls of his feet, “I can’t believe we’re going to find out who The Spider is. We’re gonna bring down a _crime lord_.” 

Tony keeps texting as Peter talks and is planning on adding to the conversation when the bell rings. He looks up and Peter’s just as surprised. 

They enter back into the room to see Cooper staring at them, “You’re going to be disappointed.” he says, “I don’t know who he is.” 

Tony narrows his eyes, takes back his original seat. “How many people have you killed?” 

Cooper raises his head, “Thirty-one. He’s been active in New York the past couple years.”

“I get how he got Barton, he was a rogue agent, but you were just an engineer at a desk job. How were you recruited?”

“It was eight years ago, we were doing an environmental impact study for a company based in the UK. I was working late one night, this tall guy sits down next to me. He doesn’t give a name, just says he’s a client. He was British, striking. He said he wanted to take me to dinner to discuss the fact that I am a serial killer.”

Peter’s eyes widen with horror.

“He found you out.” Tony states, expression devoid of emotion, “How?”

The man nods, “He said he was experienced at picking out psychopaths who were trying to pass so to speak. He said he’d be in touch, but I never saw him again. It was all on the phone after that.” 

“What else did he say to you that night?” Peter presses, standing behind Tony’s chair, “What about himself?”

Cooper purses his lips, “He did mention that he spent time in a reform school when he was a kid.” he pauses, looks right at Tony, “One more thing. I know you.” 

Tony’s brows knit closer.

“I was doing some work in London a few years ago.” Cooper jerks his head to his phone, “I got a text with your picture. You were dabbling in alcohol at the time. I had an accidental poisoning planned.”

Behind Tony, Peter’s fingers clench around the chair back, breath coming in fast. 

Cooper laughs, but it’s dry, “Dissolute man-child gives himself a hot shot. Who’d look twice at that?” he asks and Tony’s expression hardens, “But then, before I could do it, I got another message. ‘Job canceled’, it said. That was the only time that had ever happened.” 

Tony breathes in hard. 

Cooper’s phone pings. 

Tony opens the message. “Time’s up Cooper.” 

 

The meeting is arranged for The Parthenon in half an hour. Tony and Peter drive down there, Peter equipped with a pair of binoculars he’s currently using to scope out the place, Tony with a camera. “The guy Cooper talked about…he picked out a serial killer on a hunch. You’d have to be crazy observant to do that. And really smart. You think he actually met The Spider?”

“Not sure.” Tony murmurs, “Either way, I doubt he’d come here though.”

“But Cooper is technically late to this meeting and _someone’s_ waiting for him.” Tony says to himself before pointing, “That guy. With the long hair. He keeps checking his watch- a super expensive one by the way.” 

The man looks around again before throwing money on the table and leaving, all with a look of paranoia in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Tony says, “bet he’s gonna have to tell someone that Cooper never came. Let’s go.” he revs the car back up to follow him. 

While the car goes straight, Tony takes a left, knowing he can take another right and intersect with him to divert suspicion. As he predicts, they meet at a stop-sign intersection with a train track running through. The car they’re following stops as it turns into the road with tracks running over it just as the lights begin to flash warning of an incoming train. 

“What’s he doing?” Peter whispers. 

“He’s waiting to see if he’s being followed.” Tony answers, watching as the car dips past the protective barriers, “The meeting’s on the other side of the track.” 

Just as the train comes roaring in, a silver car slides opposite of the red one. “Dammit.” Tony smacks the car wheel before Peter shakes his head, grabbing their stake out camera. 

“Don’t worry, I got this!” 

He runs out of the car, turning on the flash and moving the camera left to right, letting the camera take as many photos as it can per second. By the time the last train car passes, both cars have disappeared. 

 

Peter prints each photo he took with their printer at home, each one a blurry mess where the train was, with one clear section where the gap between freight cars was. Tony comes up behind him, looking impressed. 

“Cameras can capture images faster than we can process them. So I put the shutter speed at 1/640 of a second so I could take a series of photos between the cars. Obviously, each photo is pretty awful on its own, but together…” Peter slices each photo with a scrapbooking paper cutter, taking each useful part and taping it onto a white board until the image of a man appears.

Tony ruffles his hair, “A little genius aren’t you?”

“More like a photography nerd.” Peter grins. 

Cooper confirms their suspicions when they show him the photo and Peter resists the urge to punch a fist through the air.

“That’s him.” Cooper says, voice grave, “That’s the man that took me to dinner.” 

 

Tony drops a binder thicker than he was on the desk, jolting Peter awake. He squeaks, jerking upwards, looking at him with wide eyes, “Oh man. Fell asleep.” he grins sheepishly, rubbing his neck. 

“Yup.” Tony says, but he has a fond smile. 

Peter rubs his eyes, looking at the file Tony’s holding out. “What’s it?” 

“Information. We know the guy from the train is British and that he went to a reform school. But there are only so many of those in England, and only so many prisoners in each of them.” 

Peter takes a better look at the file, noting it’s an administrative one from a reform school, “Woah. Aren’t these sealed or something?”

“Yeah. And?”

At Peter’s look Tony waves a hand as though to say it’s no big deal, “I still have contacts in London you know.” 

Peter flips through it, seeing a photo of a teenage boy, “Oh my God it’s him.”

“John Douglas. Apparently, he was always brilliant, even as a kid. Lethal too.” Tony takes a seat next to him, “While he was still in school, some older kids beat up his friend and roommate, Randall Breen. Poor kid didn’t make it.” 

Peter’s eyes slant with sympathy.

“But within six months of Randall’s death, three of the kids who did it were dead.”

Peter looks down at the file in his hand, “They thought it was Douglas?”

“Couldn’t prove it. But when they transferred him to another school, the deaths stopped. That speaks for itself.” 

Peter swivels in his chair, chewing on his lip, “Okay, well we have a name, can’t we track him?”

“Tried. But he’s gone off the grid. Probably stopped using that name the second he turned eighteen.”

Peter stops, “Then how do we find him?”

Tony looks at the cut up picture of Douglas, jaw tight. “I don’t know.”

 

After their discussion, Tony urges Peter to get a real rest in his own bed. The second his head touches the pillow, he’s out like a light. But when he wakes up, it’s to a note set on the pillow next to him. 

_I figured something out when you were asleep but I didn’t want to wake you. Don’t worry, a promise is still a promise._

_Be back soon,_

_T.S_

 

“Douglas.” Tony calls and the man who just entered the living room of his hotel turns around, a wide smile on his face.

“Stark!”

“I hope you don’t mind that I disassembled all the guns I found in here.” Tony says, gesturing to dozen pieces on the table. 

“Oh I don’t need any of those.” Douglas says with a smile, “But tell me, how did you find me?” 

Tony shrugs, “I don’t know, a little bit of this, little bit of that. The details don’t really matter. But I will say that using the name of your old cell-mate to book this room wasn’t the smartest move you ever made.” 

Douglas smiles, like he’s placating him. He nods his head to the bag sitting on the table, “What’s in that?”

Tony glances at it, his heart tugs when he thinks about his promise to Peter, “The instruments of your slow and painful demise.” he says cheerily, shaking it so that the contents clang inside, “So, are you the one arranging murders across the globe as The Spider?” Tony asks, voice dangerously light.

Douglas shakes his head, taking a seat across from him. “Me? No. I could never be him.” he says, in a voice of a man speaking about a being too divine to compare with.

Tony rolls his eyes, “You going to sing his praises as a mega-genius too?”

Douglas still looks at him with that same fixed smile, “I know why you want to know about him though. You want to know about Natasha.” he raises his hands, still jovial, “I didn’t kill her. But I know what happened. I could tell you why she had to die.” 

He leans forward, eyes hard, “It was because of you Stark.”   
Tony’s heart seizes. 

Douglas smiles cruelly. 

A bullet bursts through the glass behind them, ripping straight through Douglas’ back. He gasps, slumping forward. His blood stains through his clothing. His eyes are glassy. Tony jumps up, panicked, but the red dot slides from Douglas’ back down to the floor and then disappears. 

He runs to look out the broken window but there’s nobody there. 

 

The cops arrive quickly with Fury pulling him aside. “To be clear, you were in the room when this guy Douglas got shot but you don’t know why?”

Tony’s still shaky, his voice sounding faraway. “Someone didn’t want us gossiping.” 

He’s shaking his head like he doesn’t know what’s going on and Fury’s voice drops, “What’s going on with you Tony? What did Barton really say to you that day?” 

Tony looks at him, licking his lips, eyes frantic, “There’s someone else. Someone who texted those pictures to Barton. He had a similar arrangement with the guy I’m about to hand to you right now. And I-” he sucks in a breath, standing taller, “I’m going to bring this person in. I’m going to find him. And I’m going to put him on trial for what he did, but I swear I’m not going to fall back to what I tried to do before.”

Fury eyes him with a hard expression, “I wish your word meant something more to me Tony.” 

Tony lets out a breath, “I know.” 

But he brightens quickly, “Which is why I have a character witness, Pete, come over here and tell the Captain that I’m a changed man and that I’ll stick to the social acceptable norms of law enforcement.”

But Peter ignores him, squinting at the bag on the table. “Is that my backpack?” 

He opens it up to find a plethora of Legos. He looks up, eyes incredulous and confused.

Tony shrugs, “What? Legos sound like torture tools.” 

 

Back in the police station, Cooper blathers away in the interrogation room. Behind the one-way glass, Fury’s shaking his head in disbelief, “Guy gave us _eighteen_ murders already. Doesn’t even want a lawyer.”

“He’s proud of his work, he’s probably desperate to finally tell someone.” Tony says with just a hint of disgust. 

A phone pings from Fury’s pocket, “It’s Cooper’s phone. He got a text.” 

“What’s it say?” Peter asks, but Tony takes one look at it before he grabs the phone, bursting into the interrogation room.

“Hey, crazy guy, what does this say?” he demands, holding it in Cooper’s face.

Cooper squints at the screen before shaking his head, “I don’t know.” 

“Try harder.” 

“I can’t!” Cooper insists, shaking his head adamantly, “It’s not the code we use. If you want to read that message, you’re going to have to translate it yourself.” 

Tony’s breath comes in hard before he turns around, slamming the door behind him. 

“Fury, watch my kid.” 

 

The warden makes a special exception for Tony to come visit, pulling Barton out of his cell for him. “Heyyy, look who it is!” Clint greets, waving with just his fingers. 

“Your killer friend is in custody. John Douglas is dead. You know him?” Tony asks, expression hard.

“Oh come on man, I gave you some great intel last time, the least you could do is look a little happier. I gave up a nap for this.”

Tony ignores him, showing him the text message instead, “What’s this say?” 

Clint smirks, “What? The great Tony Stark couldn’t crack it?”

“I’m working on it.” Tony grits out, “But I’m not above getting it done a little quicker.” 

Clint stares at him some more, before nodding his head at the phone, “Go to the messages main page.” 

The list of all text conversations comes up, each contact name just a question mark, each message the same string of unintelligible characters, the only thing readable, the time stamp of each message. 

“Ok, back to the message.” 

Clint’s eyes flit between the characters, his expression unreadable. He stares at it for a long, long time before leaning back. “Sorry mate. This is a different code. I don’t know it.” 

Tony’s eyes flash, “Liar.” 

“Nope. We covered this before remember? I’m not a liar. Someone’s just pulling your string.” 

But Tony won’t relent, “Tell me what it says Barton. I know you can read it!” 

“Hey, guard! I’m done here!” Clint yells, already hauling himself up. 

“Tell me what it says!” Tony shouts but Clint just shakes his head, letting himself be dragged away. 

“Gotta fly Tony!” 

 

Tony growls, hunched over at his desk, scribbling over the code characters before crumpling up the paper and throwing it against the wall where many a crumpled paper have stacked together to create a pile of absolute failures. 

“Mr. Stark, it’s late and you’re tired, you need to sleep.” Peter urges. 

“I can’t. Not when I still haven’t cracked it. I figured out what kind of cipher it is, but I still don’t have the three digit sequence to unlock it.” 

Peter sighs, glancing at the time, “Okay, well it’s eleven-seventeen right now, so how about you give it up at twelve?” 

Tony looks up, fingers pointed at Peter, “That’s it. The _time._ ” 

He reaches for his pen again, scribbling furiously, “When Barton asked me to go to the messages home page he wanted to see the _time_. That’s the decryption key.” 

 

Clint stares at a plate of food sitting in his cell. A different plate than all the rest. Different by a lot. 

He sighs.

Sucks Will had to die for it. 

Clint digs around the tray, pulling out a tiny pill hidden within the bread roll. He rolls it between his fingers before swallowing it dry. Within seconds, his entire body convulses and he crashes to the floor, shaking. 

Guards run into his cell, yelling to clear the way as they race him to the medical ward. 

 

Tony finishes writing the last letter when he shoots up, eyes horrified, “Peter, where’s my phone!!”

Peter rushes in with his own, “What’s wrong??”

But Tony’s already dialing Fury’s number. 

 

A doctor yells about not having the equipment to deal with him, Clint Barton needs to go to a hospital or he will die in that very room. 

A prisoner transport van sets up in the entrance of the prison, Clint is carted off on a gurney, his eyes fluttering, vitals dropping. 

He’s locked in the back of the van, attached to a monitor but nothing else. Nothing in the prison will save him. 

He only has minutes. 

 

Fury picks up on the first ring.

“He’s breaking him out. The Spider! He’s breaking Barton out. You have to call the Warden and warn him.” Tony shouts, breath coming in fast.

Fury is quiet on the other end. 

“Tony,” he starts, and Tony’s entire stomach drops, “I just got off the phone with the Warden. Clint Barton escaped Newgate. They found the van hijacked in the middle of the road. He was gone.” 

 

The needle stabs into Clint’s thigh and he shoots up, wheezing as his senses dial down to normal. “Jesus, you never said faking my death would be that…death-like. Shit.”

The person holding the needle rolls their eyes. “Come on, we gotta go. He’s waiting for us.” 

 

The phone drops from Tony’s hand as Fury hangs up. His face falling into them as he kicks the desk in frustration. 

“Mr. Stark, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” Peter says, eyes still wide.

But Tony shakes his head, “No. I should’ve been faster. I should’ve _seen_ it.” he scoffs, “Gotta fly, that bastard told me right from the start. Dammit!” 

“Twice.” Tony says, through strained teeth, “Twice he’s had me right where he wanted me and both times he let me live. Once when he hired Cooper to kill me and again today when he shot Douglas right in front of me. It’s all a game? What game!” 

Peter’s voice is small, eyes anxious, “It’s you Mr. Stark. You’re the game.” 

A phone rings in the silence.

“That’s Cooper’s phone.” Peter whispers. 

Tony takes a breath like he’s angry and ready for war. Peter unlocks his own phone, starting the recorder. The contact name is only a question mark. 

Tony presses accept.

“Cooper’s in jail.” he says. 

The man on the other end is British, distinguished, “Yes. Well aware. I know who has this phone Anthony E. Stark.” 

“Lucky. That makes one of us.” Tony quips, eyes dark.

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal to you my name. But I’m quite certain you’ve heard of my other one. You may refer to me as The Spider.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Why, I do believe we’re overdue for a little chat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one's allowed to come at me about my escape scene. i literally know someone who broke out of jail via ambulance so f i g h t me 
> 
> but don't plz.
> 
> cuz i still need to finish up the last three chapters which i promise are gonna be awesome but i have 0 energy ig so please comment if you liked it!!


	12. Face To Face

Peter catches Tony’s eyes, barely breathing. 

Tony shrugs, “Well if you’re really him, then yeah, you could say that.” 

“ _If_.” the man repeats, clearly displeased.

“To be rude, you’re just a voice on a phone.” Tony says, markedly flippant. 

“I can assure you, I’m more than just a voice on a phone.” the man says, voice cool, “I do so appreciate you sending along my message to Clint Barton though, he really is quite the asset. Played his part beautifully don’t you think?”

Tony doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, I suppose you’re rather angry that I manipulated you. Quite easily, I might add.” 

Tony’s jaw clicks.

“Chin up Stark, manipulation is my business.”

“Actually, I think murder’s your business.” 

“A part of it.” He allows. 

“Explain.” 

“Just think of my moniker. I sit motionless at the center of my web. That web has a thousand radiates, and I know every quiver of each of them. I do little myself,” he’s quick to say, “I only plan. But my agents are numerous and splendidly organized. If there is a crime to be done, a paper to be abstracted, a house to be rifled, a man to be removed, the word is passed to me, the matter is planned and carried out.” 

Tony cocks a brow, “So basically, you’re a pimp and the assassins are your girls. A cliché if there ever was one.” 

But Tony’s done hearing a monologue, he cuts right to the point, “Natasha Romanoff, did you plan her murder?”

“Ahh, that is the question, isn’t it? The one that’s haunted you these many months.”

“Why’d you do it.” Tony presses, voice getting grittier, “Why are you so fixated on me?”

“You want answers.” The Spider says, “I don’t blame you. But first, I require something of you. I’d like to hire you. Not as an assassin,” his voice lightens as though the thought amuses him, “But as an investigator. A man named Wallace Rourke was murdered in Brooklyn several months ago. The New York City Police Department investigated, but failed to find any leads.”

“Bring his killer to justice, and I promise I’ll give you all the answers you can handle.” 

The line goes dead. 

 

Tony’s at his computer moments later, “Alright, Wallace Rourke, mechanic, age forty-three. Guy was stabbed to death in an alley in Brooklyn.”

Peter stands behind him, scrolling through his phone, “Okay, so the police said it was a mugging because his wallet, watch, and phone were missing. Oh, and he was married.” 

Tony knows he should find it moderately concerning that Peter’s just as reckless as he is, not stopping to really think about what just happened or ask any questions. Stephen would have harassed him about why he was following through a sociopath’s demands and Steve would just hand it all over to the NYPD. Peter though…well, he’s too much like Tony for his own good. 

But Tony also knows that they don’t have time to waste hiding in anxieties and half-thought questions. Maybe the man on the phone was The Spider. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was just playing around with them. Maybe he isn’t. But either way, he’d bring them one step closer to either the real man behind it, or to Natasha. 

And that’s all that mattered. 

Peter stops though, for a second, eyes flicking to Cooper’s phone, “Why would he call us now? Doesn’t he know that you’re,” he shrugs, “well you.” 

“What? You mean that I’d figured out he’s in his mid-forties, came from Sussex, and has some kind of link with Wallace Rourke?”

Peter nods.

“Yeah well, obviously this is something he cares about. Which is why we have to look into it, regardless of what he wants.”

“Well! At least he isn’t trying to kill you!” Peter says brightly.

Tony snorts, “We still don’t have the bigger picture though. He’s been keeping me alive, now we have to find out why.” 

 

Rourke’s widow looks sad to see them the next day, like their presence opened up wounds of grief she thought she had stitched shut. Their questions however, lead them nowhere. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head, “I’ve never heard of anyone called The Spider before.” 

Tony’s voice is gentle, “It’s alright. How about any British people in your life. Your husband do any business with them?”

Alice Rourke frowns, trying to think, “My husband worked in a garage, he knew a bunch of people, but I’m not sure about anyone British.” 

Peter fingers through the file in his lap before looking up, “Mrs. Rourke, when the police questioned you, you said your husband thought he was being followed?”

She sighs, “Yes. Um, a few weeks before he…before he died, he kept seeing the same car in his rear-view mirror, but it just happened that one time, so the cops said it didn’t have anything to do with the mugging.”

Tony hums, rolling a pen in between his fingers before he looks up, eyes going past Alice to her side table in the other room. There are dozens of open cardboard boxes scattered across it, their contents overflowing everywhere. “That some of Wallace’s stuff?” he asks. 

Alice turns around, a half smile at her lips, “Ah, yes. He was kind of a pack-rat.” she says exasperatedly. 

“Do you mind if we poke around a little?”

She gestures as though to say by all means.

Tony and Peter walk to the boxes, rummaging inside of them while Alice looks on, “So you’re consulting detectives right?” she asks, looking at them curiously. 

“Yes ma’am.” Peter smiles.

“Does that mean there’s a lead in my husband’s case?” 

Tony closes a box he’d opened shut, “Not exactly. But I’m a firm believer in a new pair of eyes freshening up a case. Actually, would you mind if we borrow these?” he gestures towards the boxes, already cataloging the items by usefulness. 

Alice looks taken aback but nods, hesitant, “Sure. Take whatever you need.” 

Peter pulls a cell-phone out of a box, staring at it in confusion, “I thought the report said Mr. Rourke had his phone taken in the mugging.”

Alice shrugs helplessly, “Like I said, he was a pack-rat. That was his old one. A few weeks before he died, someone bumped into him on the street and spilled coffee all over it. He had his new one on him when he died.” 

Tony frowns, brows creased in thought before Alice turns to him, eyes pleading, “Please find whoever did this.”

Tony nods. “I promise we’ll do everything we can.”

 

Back at the brownstone, Tony’s pulled out all the stops for their collage, using multi-coloured strings, thumbtacks and colour-coded index cards. “Okay, their bank statements are weird.” he announces as he high-lights another row. 

Peter looks up.

“They were living pay check to pay check.” Tony starts. 

“So’s the rest of America.” Peter quips.

Tony gives him a look, “ _Yes_. But Barton and Cooper were paid a pretty penny for their work, if this guy was being paid, it’s not showing up anywhere.”

Peter furrows his brows, “He doesn’t seem like the type to be hired by The Spider though.”

Tony pulls his lip in a silent admission that maybe he was right. “He didn’t have to be an assassin though, maybe he was doing something more lowkey.” he shrugs, “Or maybe he was an assassin and also had a degree in accounting I’ve seen weirder things.” 

Peter combs through their files, sorting them into piles, “I dunno Mr. Stark, why would The Spider wanna expose one of his guys? It’s risky for him.”

“He seems to like toying with us though and that’s _definitely_ risky. But, fair point.” he concedes.

Tony switches to another angle, “The M.E. report showed two stab wounds to the chest. They were smooth wounds, which implies he wasn’t moving or struggling when he was stabbed.” 

Peter curls his nose. “That’s weird. Why wasn’t he resisting? Rourke was an old Army Ranger, he wouldn’t have just lied there and-” he waves a hand around, “ _let_ himself get killed.” 

Tony nods, stroking his beard before a light shines in his eyes, “Look there, below his left ear. There’s a mark. You hit that specific point, and you disrupt the mastoid process. That’ll immobilize you for a good bit.” He snaps his fingers, “He wasn’t frozen in fear, he was frozen from the first hit.” 

Tony points to the stab wounds, “That would make it easy to just do two quick stabs to the lungs,” he makes a sound effect for the extra drama while swiping at the air, “and boom, permanent silence. No screams. No witnesses. And then an immediate death.”

“Ok. So whoever killed Rourke _wanted_ to kill him and knew exactly how to do it.” Peter looks up, “So not the average mugger.” 

Something else dawns in his eyes, “The Spider’s right.” 

Tony nods, mouth pulled in a line, “Seem like it.” 

They keep sifting through the details, trying to find something relevant until even Tony has to call a break to eat something. They order some shawarmas, settling on the dining table while the smell of coffee permeates the air as the machine hums to life. Peter takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows, swallows again, this time for some courage before asking, “Hey Mr. Stark? What was Natasha like?”

Tony looks surprised.

“It’s just… we wouldn’t be working this case if it wasn’t for her. You’d probably try and track the guy on the phone and then bring him in but…there’s no guarantee he’d answer your questions then.” he shrugs, “She just sounds like she’d be pretty awesome if you’re doing all this you know?” 

Tony’s surprise fades to a nostalgia. Peter can see the grief, quiet and alive, behind his eyes. But swirling in their depths is also a tender fondness, a passionate love. “Nat was just…everything. She was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and fascinating in just about every way.” 

He laughs, “She was Russian too. So that led to some fun conversations.” 

“Really?”

“Her last name was Romanoff Peter keep up.” Tony teases, “We bickered about the politics of her country for a bit, but she was a great debater. Strong and wicked smart and stubborn as hell. What drew me to her though, was her work as a ballerina. She was incredible.” 

Tony swirls the water in his cup, looking caught in a mesmerizing memory, “She could dance like no one else and she knew it.” he laughs, “She was smart and funny and never seemed to fall out of step. To me, she was _the_ woman. I’ve never met anyone that compared to her since.” 

“Wow.” Peter breathes, “She sounds amazing.”

“You would’ve liked her.” Tony says, “She was the most interesting person in the world.” 

Peter knows enough to read between the lines. Natasha Romanoff was the only woman Tony had ever loved. The first and maybe the last. 

He can’t imagine what it felt like to lose her. 

 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter calls, bringing Tony in from the kitchen where he’s mixing together a new cup of something or other, “I think I found proof that Rourke was being followed. Look at this.”

He hands Tony an opened package envelope. “It’s an old shipping label.” Tony states.

“Yeah! But it’s for the cell phone he had on him when he died, look at the return address. All major cell companies ship from distribution warehouses upstate- I had to read a report about it for reading comprehension and it was super boring, but I guess it came in handy-” Tony gives him a look, “But who cares about that look at this one-” Peter says excitedly. 

Tony reads the label, “Postal Unlimited…” 

Tony’s eyes brighten, “Pete! You little genius.” 

Peter beams.

“They were following him using his _phone_. As long as they had the phone’s electronic ID number- which they definitely would have if they _gave_ him the phone, it’d be easy to track him.” 

“We just need to find out who sent it.” Peter confirms, smiling as Tony ruffles his hair.

 

They find out who it is relatively quickly, a Daren Sutter from Sutter Risk Management, and go to visit him in his office the next morning, waiting in two overly plush chairs. Between them is an ornate side table stacked high with books plastered with Daren Sutter’s face on them. A quick glance shows they’re an autobiography and Tony’s already halfway through looking terribly unimpressed. 

A woman comes up to meet them, “Mr. Stark, Mr. Parker, they’re ready for you.” 

She leads them into a spacious office, where a couple stands to shake their hands. “It’s nice to meet you,” the man says, “I’m Daren Sutter and this is my wife, Katie.” 

Tony goes to shake their hands before nodding at a black belt wrapped around a Japanese style arch alongside a trophy of honor, giving a quick whistle. “Wow a Kyokushinkai black belt. Impressive.” 

Daren laughs, “Only took me twenty years to do it.” 

Katie takes a seat, gesturing for them to do the same, “So how can we help you two?”

Tony unfolds a photo, handing it to her, “This is Wallace Rourke. Your firm was tracking him a few months ago. We want to know why.” 

Katie hands the photo to Daren who frowns before looking at her as he’s shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize him.” 

Katie nods beside him.

Tony tilts his head, “Well, that doesn’t change the fact that either you or someone who works here ran into him and made sure that his cell phone met a bitter end with a well timed coffee spill. Rourke ordered another phone from his provider, but according to them, never switched it on.” Tony shrugs, “Probably because it was intercepted by someone here en route and switched out with one of yours.” 

“I wouldn’t try to lie about it, we have the shipping records.” Tony says, looking them in the eye. 

“The return address is for a shipping store right around the corner from here. And we asked around there and they identified your company as the ones who sent it.” Peter adds. 

“Once Rourke turned that little sucker on, he had no idea you were monitoring everything he did. These days, a phone’s the best spy tool you can have. And you kept monitoring him, right until he died three months ago.” Tony’s eyes are stony. 

“Actually,” Daren cuts in, “we only investigated Rourke for a couple days.”

Katie’s picture perfect smile freezes on her face, “Daren.” she warns.

He raises a hand, “No, it’s okay. They did a lot of good work, we might as well fill in the gaps. We can’t deny knowing him anyway.” 

Daren straightens, “We’re not admitting to tracking his phone.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Of course not, that’s illegal.”

Daren nods, sighing silently, “But we did look into him based on threats he allegedly made against a client. After a brief period of legal surveillance, we realized the claims were unfounded and dropped it.” 

“And this super convenient client is?” Tony drags out the word.

Daren smiles curtly, “Confidential.” 

 

As Peter and Tony walk out the building, Peter isn’t looking impressed. “So theoretically, the client guy should be our suspect. But I’m not feeling it.” 

“Why? Is it because he doesn’t exist? Don’t be discriminatory.” Tony quips, “Ghosts commit crimes too.” 

Peter snorts.

“You’re on the right track though. The client doesn’t exist because we already met Rourke’s murderer.”

Peter blows out an exhausted breath, “Aw man. Mr. Sutter?” 

“Mr. Sutter.” Tony agrees, “It’s his own fault though. He basically confessed in his book.”

Peter frowns, “How can you confess to a crime you didn’t do yet? Didn’t it come out like five years ago?” 

Tony lifts a finger, “You’re not looking deep enough kid. That sad attempt at the great American novel was basically a virtual confession complete with a motive, what drew him into the field, and how exactly he had the skills to pull it off.” 

Tony swipes one of the books from the display as they walk by it, flipping to page thirteen, “Check it out. Ninteen-ninety-one, Sutter was twenty-threw, and his older sister Leah was brutally murdered in their own house. The police said it was a robbery gone wrong. But the worst part is that Sutter came home just as the killer was leaving it.” 

Peter’s eyes widen, a surge of empathy bursting through him. He knew how that felt, to look the man who murdered your family right in the eye and think _how could you?_

But it only got worse.

“He was face to face with the guy and he had no idea what he was about to walk in and see. He gave the police everything he remembered and they made a full sketch, but nothing came of it. He’s been obsessed with finding who’s killed his sister since.” 

Peter swallows hard, looking behind him as though he could see Sutter now. “You think he found him.” 

“I think the quest to find him became a force he couldn’t ignore. He dropped out of business school, studied law enforcement, security, and karate, which! Incidentally, uses mastoid strikes, the exact kind that would have stunned Rourke before he was stabbed.” 

Peter flips through the book where the old police sketch was printed in full size. His heart thuds in his chest. He can’t deny what’s staring him right in the face. The man who killed Leah Sutter and Wallace Rourke looked the same. 

“Okay but, was Rourke in the system? A guy who murders someone in a robbery- it can’t have been their first time.” Peter says reasonably.

“When I looked into him, his army record showed he enlisted under a waiver, so he either had to join the guys in green or go to jail.” Tony shrugs, “Not that hard of a choice.” 

They buckle into the car and Peter’s still unconvinced, “I don’t know…can we even place Rourke anywhere near the murder?” 

It’s only when they get home and get to dig back through all their data that they realize that they _can_. Peter reads aloud, “Following the discharge from the army in November nineteen-ninety, Rourke moved back to his mother’s house in Stanford, Connecticut.”

Tony looks up, “That’s only a half an hour drive to Sutter’s house.” 

Peter’s stomach twists, “So it’s possible then. Twenty years ago, Rourke could have murdered Leah Sutter.” 

Tony closes the file, “Which means it’s also possible that our morally ambiguous security maven found out it was Rourke and killed him for it.” 

“But it’s all so!” Peter waves a hand in the air, looking bewildered, “It’s so small-scale! Obviously it’s horrible and I feel awful for Leah Sutter and her family but- why would The Spider care about this case? It doesn’t make sense.”

Tony looks contemplative, rolling a pen between his fingers, “He might want to bring Sutter down. Big guy with a big security firm, the second he’s gone,” he snaps his fingers, “it’s an opening to get at some of his high roller clients. Maybe The Spider’s really after them.” 

Peter’s eyes go grave, “That means…if we solve this case, we might end up hurting someone else.” 

“Not if we find the bug first.” Tony says, voice hard. 

“But it still doesn’t make sense.” Peter insists, rubbing at his forehead, “If he wanted to bring down Sutter, why didn’t he just do it himself? For him to even put us on this goose chase, he’d have to already know Sutter did it.”

“I know.” Tony stands, “That’s why I asked Sutter to meet me tomorrow. In private. While I’m gone, I need you to run some checks for me.” 

 

Tony sits on the park bench, looking supremely confident and cavalier when Sutter comes to meet him. “Hey Daren, I’m sure you’re super busy running a business, but I appreciate you taking the time.”

He stands, pulling out a little device, “Hope you don’t mind, I brought my own bug sweeper. Arms out.” 

He starts the scan over Sutter’s body before the other man has the chance to speak. Satisfied, Tony hands him the stick. “Alright, here you go. But be gentle, it’s my first time.” 

Sutter gives him a look, but obliges, handing it back to Tony when the scan proves he’s clean. Tony catches his odd expression but just flits up his brows, “Trust me. When you hear what I have to say, you’re gonna be relieved to know we weren’t bugged.” 

The two sit down and Tony pins him with a curious stare, “Okay, so now that that’s all outta the way. I have to know, how do you feel now that you killed Wallace Rourke?”

A plethora of emotions burst across Sutter’s face before he sucks in a breath. “I’m leaving.” 

Tony shoots out a hand, holding him back, “I relate to you, you know. From one fucked up guy to another, guys who are finally starting to get better. After losing everything. I lost someone I loved to a murderer too. And I never got over it.” Tony’s eyes are expressive and true and deeper than the earth and Sutter finds himself drawn in.

“I can tell from the photos in your office. Since December, you’ve lost fifteen pounds, the bags under your eyes are gone, those are signs of someone kicking their depression to the curb.” Tony lets Sutter’s arm go, never breaking their gaze. 

“Killing Rourke…it gave you closure. It let you close that chapter of grief.” 

Sutter trembles, “I told you. We only surveilled Rourke for a couple days, that’s it.”

Tony snorts quietly, shaking his head before looking back up, “You’re a really bad liar for the head of the biggest security company in the world you know that?” 

“Actually, I’m an excellent liar.”

Tony snorts for real this time, “You’re definitely not average. But you’re not excellent. Not to me.” his gaze turns serious, “I know you killed Rourke.”

Sutter sits down again, looking at him like he’s almost wry, “If you had proof, you would’ve gone to the police by now.”

Tony shrugs, “Gotta run before you walk. I don’t have proof. But I will, unless you have something bigger for me to focus on.” he pins Sutter with a meaningful look.

“The Spider. That name mean anything to you?”

Sutter’s expression is blank, “Should it?” 

“It should. He’s the man who told me about your case in the first place. I think he wants to use your fall from grace to make a bit of cash but I don’t know how he thinks he can actually do that.”

Suter shakes his head, “I’ve never heard of that name.” 

Tony appraises him, “I hate that I believe you.” he slaps his thigh, “Alright, I’m gonna need all your client files to see if I can find a link between him and you.”

Sutter’s brows knit together in disbelief, “Excuse me? You want me to give you my entire business based on some crazy story about a mystery man plotting my demise? No.” 

Tony sighs, “If everyone could just get on the same page, or better yet, just acknowledge that I know what I’m talking about, that’d be great. But fine. Proof. Based purely on how detail oriented you were when you killed Rourke, not to mention The Spider’s resources, I wouldn’t be surprised if he found out about what you did via listening device in your office.” He purses his lips, “Maybe house.”

Sutter shakes his head, looking derisive, “No way. We sweep them regularly.” 

Tony makes finger quotes in the air, “’Regularly.’ You know that means that if anyone else knew the schedule, they could just take and put the bugs back as needed?” 

Sutter gapes like it’s never occurred to him and Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Sweep your place today. Tell me what you find.” he smirks, “And don’t worry, I won’t rub it in too much.” 

 

The next day, Fury’s going through a detective’s report when Thor knocks on his door, “Hey Captain, sorry to interrupt. But there’s a Daren Sutter here from Sutter Risk Management.” his lip slips into a confused sort of frown, “He wants to confess to the murder of Wallace Rourke.” 

Fury makes a face, getting up to meet Sutter in the interrogation room. He’s calm, back straight, hands clasped. He doesn’t need much prodding before he gets right into it. “I came across Rourke in a routine background check. He was a mechanic and he applied for a position at a high-end dealership. They hired me to review the three finalists.”

Fury nods, jotting a few notes down, “And how did you know he was the man who killed your sister?” 

Sutter looks like he doesn’t understand the question, “I recognized him immediately. It’s been twenty-two years but I still remember everything about that night.” 

His voice drops, something angry and twisted, “Especially him.” 

 

Tony had asked Steve to call him if a man named Daren Sutter turned up and while Fury interrogates him on the inside, he and Peter watch from behind the glass. “He found the bugs.” Tony states, watching Sutter with blank eyes.

“That’s how The Spider knew.” Peter says quietly.

Tony shakes his head, something almost disapproving about him, “When he found them, he knew what they meant. Someone could prove he killed Rourke. So he’s confessing to get ahead of it. He wants a deal. He should’ve come to me instead. Like I _told him._ ” 

Peter frowns, crossing his arms, “He probably thought you were part of the whole Spider thing.”

Tony snorts, “Feels like I am. Except I’m just running around in the dark hitting walls.” 

“So now what? Is it over?” Peter asks, looking up at him.

“We did what he wanted. We found Rourke’s killer and we brought him to justice. Now we just wait for him to call and make him talk.” 

 

The Spider leaves them hanging until well into the evening. Tony and Peter hold vigil around the phone, anxiety steeping in their insides. It feels like they’re holding their breath, every extra second more strain on their lungs. 

Finally, the phone rings. 

It’s another question mark ID.

“Congratulations.” The Spider says warmly, “I see Daren Sutter has been arrested.” 

Peter’s recording him again, though it did little good the first time around. Tony’s fingers around the phone tighten, “Ok bug-boy, I held up my end of the deal, now you hold up yours. What happened to Natasha?” 

“To the contrary, you’ve only revealed part of the truth.” his voice drops, “I owe you nothing.” 

Tony’s eyes narrow, a quiet fire burning into something out of control, “You want the whole truth? Okay, how about this. How about I know that Sutter was your target the whole time. That I know you had him bugged. That I know you don’t want to reveal that surveillance to the police so you used _me_ to expose him.” 

The man tuts on the other end, “You’re slipping Stark. I’m talking about the truth about Leah Sutter’s murder.” 

“Wallace Rourke killed her.”

“No, in fact, he did not.” The Spider states it simply, like it’s a quiet fact, “He had an alibi.” 

Tony rolls his eyes, “What? His mom swears she dealt him into her bridge hand that night?”

“No. After Rourke left the army, his mail went to his mother’s house in Connecticut, but _Rourke_ did not. He was in Saudi Arabia doing off the books work for an American oil company.” 

Tony’s breath slows.

“Rourke didn’t return until March nineteen-ninety-one.”

Tony shakes his head, “Sutter swears he saw him.” 

“Sutter is _wrong_. He killed the wrong man. Your work is far from done Stark. Finish it.” 

The dial tone echoes. 

 

When Peter wakes up, Tony’s sitting at the edge of his bed looking bereaved. Peter groans, rubbing at his eye, “You can’t just appear here whenever you want you know.” he mumbles, yawning.

Tony snaps his fingers, “Up and at ‘em, I’m in crisis and need a sounding board.” 

Peter stretches his arms behind his head looking at Tony with expectant eyes. “Alright, so here’s the situation. Did I prove bug boy wrong? No.” 

Peter frowns.

“Turns out, Rourke was in Saudi when the murder happened. I can’t technically prove it, but I can’t prove he was anywhere else either. As it happened, Rourke left the army in the nineties, his stuff went to his mom’s place in Connecticut but there’s no evidence that _Rourke_ went with his stuff. There’s no credit card activity, no bank withdrawals and okay, maybe he was a momma’s boy and she paid for everything. But the last couple things on his medical history was that he refilled his malaria pill prescription and got a typhoid booster _and_ a vaccine for meningococcal disease.”

“Why does that sound bad.” Peter sighs, already coming to terms with the truth.

“Because it is. That vaccine is only required for travel to Saudi Arabia.” Tony’s eyes darken, “So, it’s not exactly proof, but it’s not exactly nothing either.”

Peter crosses his legs under him, leaning against his quickly made pillow pile. “Okay fine, maybe he didn’t kill Leah. But that wasn’t the job.” 

Tony’s mouth presses into a thin line, “I dug a little deeper into her case. Unidentified fingerprints were found on Leah’s door after her death.” Tony shrugs, “Obviously they could’ve come from anyone that had nothing to do with the murder, but they weren’t a match for Rourke.” 

Peter lets out a breath, “Okay. So we have to assume The Spider’s right.” his face pales, “That means Mr. Sutter-” 

Tony meets his wide eyes with regret, “He killed an innocent man.” 

Peter’s fingers curl into his blankets, “Maybe The Spider set him up!” 

Tony twists his lip, “That’s impossible.”

“It’s _totally_ possible. The Spider said it himself! He manipulates people as a job.” 

“Daren Sutter saw his sister’s killer running away from her body. He’ll never forget that face. How does anyone- even someone as supposedly fan-flipping-tastic as The Spider trick him into killing someone else?”

Peter shrugs, looking exasperated. “I dunno! It’s been twenty years- memories change-”

Tony’s eyes are cold, “No way. Not a memory like that. Not the memory of someone who took someone you loved away from you.” 

Peter looks away. 

Tony shakes his head, gets up. “It doesn’t make sense.” he looks at Peter like he’s making an oath, “But it will. And when we figure it out, The Spider will get what he wants. And so will I.” 

 

Tony calls Steve after staring at the crime collage makes him want to explode and just disintegrate all at once. He doesn’t really know why. Maybe he wants another set of eyes. Another perspective. Or maybe…Tony snorts. Nah, nothing as cheesy as that. 

Steve’s relatively caught up, he doesn’t know the details, but since Tony witnessed Douglas’ death, word about The Spider had spread. At least into the inner circle. 

“You have to take it a little easier on yourself Tony, you just need to look at it through another angle. All the facts are there.” 

“It’s just frustrating when I feel like I’m being pulled around on a string I didn’t know I had!” and finally, the frustrations he couldn’t release around Peter burst through. 

All the resentment and the indignity and awfulness of everything overwhelms him and he’s left feeling helpless and out of time Nothing means more to him than finding out why Natasha had to die. Why The Spider was so obsessed with him he had to go after the one person he loved more than anything in the world. He just needs to find a single thread so he can pull and rip the entire web. 

Especially now that he has another person to protect. 

“I don’t know why he’s doing this to you. Did he say anything to you?” Steve asks, empathetic. 

Tony sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, “All I know is that he obviously thinks I’m his fucking arch-nemesis or some other cartoon crap. Maybe I got in the way of some deal he was doing in London.”

“Okay, but then why didn’t he just kill you? Why did he do what he did to Natasha? And why’s he making you jump through all these hoops now on the other side of the world?” 

Tony twists his hand in a frustrated gesture, “I don’t know. I don’t _know_. Out of everyone I’ve ever tangoed with, this guy just…he’s the one person I can’t figure out.” 

“And that scares you.” Steve states, like it’s a fact.

“I’m Tony Stark. I’m not afraid of anything.” Tony says vehemently, “Like I said before, if he wanted to kill me, he would have. He obviously isn’t. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

Steve’s quiet for a moment, “There are other ways to hurt you than actually hurting you.” 

Tony’s voice is sharp. “I’m not letting anything happen to Peter. Ever. I’m going to protect him.” 

But Steve’s voice is sad, “You can’t promise that Tony. That’s the job.”

“Maybe other people can’t. But I can.” 

Steve sighs, “Just be careful Tony. And you know we’re a call away if you need backup. I’ll let you know if anything pops up in the Leah Sutter case.” 

 

There’s a heavy feeling in Tony’s stomach when he goes downstairs to meet Peter. “Kid, come ‘ere.” 

Peter looks up from where he’s spreading cream cheese on a bagel, walking over to Tony with his head cocked slightly to the side. 

“Peter, I want you to be honest with me. With everything that’s happened, the assassins and Douglas and the goddamn Spider, are you worried about- well anything. Because if you’re scared- that’s fine- this is just- so nuts and if you’re worried, I’ll have someone pick you up right now until I figure this out. Nothing is more important to me than your safety, you know that right? And I’m going to protect you. No matter what.” 

Peter’s gaze is steady, “I know. And I _am_ scared. But I’m not scared for me.” 

Tony’s expression falters for just a second. 

“I’m not gonna jump ship now that it’s gotten real. I mean, come on Mr. Stark, I knocked out a DEA agent with a _vase_.” he brags, smiling a little.

“Oh God don’t remind me.” Tony groans, already feeling his stomach twist. 

“I’m gonna be fine. You have my back.” Peter smiles, “And I have yours.” 

 

They decide to split up to cover more ground. Tony heads to the precinct to interrogate Daren Sutter some more while Peter goes to visit his wife at the office to see if she’ll give them access to the firm’s client list. 

Daren Sutter is uncooperative to say the least.

“Wallace Rourke killed my sister.” He insists with the eyes of a zealot. 

Tony sighs. “That’s all fine and dandy but the evidence-”

“What evidence? You’re just twisting the facts to suit your made up stories.”

Tony takes a deep breath, “I’m not twisting anything, I just want to make sense of the fact that there’s no actual proof Rourke was even on the _continent_ when your sister was killed. _Someone_ out there might have manipulated you and all I want to know is who would benefit from that.” 

Sutter glares, “Between the two of us, I’d say you’re the one being played right now.”

Tony makes a face, “Yup. Well aware of that one. Still pretty sure you were tricked into killing the wrong guy though.” 

Sutter closes his eyes, breathes, then opens them again. “Remember when you said I was a terrible liar?” he leans closer, eyes flashing, “Tell me I’m lying now.”

“Wallace. Rourke. Killed. My. Sister.” 

 

In Katie Sutter’s office, Peter hands her his phone, playing the recording of The Spider’s voice. When it’s done, Katie looks regretful as she shakes her head, “No, I’m sorry. I don’t recognize that voice.”

Peter looks disappointed for a second before he nods, taking back his phone, “Like I mentioned earlier, Mr. Stark and I think whoever this is, is targeting one of your clients. If you could give us access to your list, we might be able to figure out if-”

Katie cuts him off, “I’m sorry, but our clients need to trust that we take their privacy seriously. And as far as this whole ‘conspiracy’ goes-”

“Something is going on Mrs. Sutter. You found the bugs didn’t you?”

Katie stares him down, “Let’s say that we did.” she says slowly, “There are a lot of people who want to know what goes on in here. And even if the man you’re referring to _is_ surveilling us, he couldn’t possibly have set Daren up to kill the wrong man. Daren saw his face.” 

“Okay but isn’t it possible he got it wrong? That after all those years of wanting to find the killer he was ready to believe that he had?” Peter insists.

Katie shakes her head, “There’s no way he made a mistake like that.” she softens, her shoulders dropping, “Listen…for Daren, it’s like his life can be categorized in two halves: before Leah’s murder, and after.” 

Something prickles the back of Peter’s neck and he pauses, “Did you know him before the death?” he asks.

Looking almost wistful Katie answers, “No, but I wish that I had. We actually met at the candle-light vigil for Leah. Of course, we didn’t get involved until a few months after.” 

“Look Peter,” and Peter knows from her eyes that she’s being sincere, “the truth is, Daren found closure when he killed Wallace Rourke. Am I sad that he’s in jail? Yes. But I’m also grateful that he finally found some peace.” 

Peter thinks about Tony and looks at what might have been. 

 

Peter returns home, throwing open the door, yelling, “Mr. Stark I’m home!”

He finds Tony in the living room staring at their collage, “No luck either?” Peter asks, noting the etched in frown. 

“He wouldn’t even _talk_ about any enemies because he didn’t want to validate my set up theory.” Tony complains, “You?”

“No list.” Peter turns to a new board set up next to the first, “But it looks _you’re_ making one.”

“Well, Sutter wouldn’t give me a list of enemies so I started a little DIY project. Partial credit goes to Steve.” Tony gestures to the board, “Sutter made a lot of enemies just through his job. He helped put a way lot of stalkers, abusers, dangerous obsessives, the works.” 

Tony groans, “The worst part is that he advertised his obsession with his sister’s death literally everywhere so anyone could have known about it.” 

Tony winces, rubbing at his shoulder, a kind of frazzled helplessness jumping around him. “Mr. Stark? Are you okay?”

Tony stops moving, tries to smile, “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. Just been sitting for too long.”

Peter’s eyes soften, a deep swell of affection bursting inside him. A bubbling desire to have power and knowledge and ability to change the world and circumstance. “I’m sorry. I wish I could just- I don’t know. Have some super cool super powers and just bring The Spider and everyone to justice for you.” 

Tony snorts, looking up at him and Peter can see some faint amusement and knows that maybe he couldn’t solve the real problem, but at least he could make him laugh, “I think I’d have a heart attack if you were a super hero, you’d probably sneak out to fight bad guys and pretend you weren’t limping the next morning.”

“Well yeah, I wouldn’t want you to-” Peter stops, “Oh my God. Oh my God Mr. Stark I figured it out.” he turns to him, practically jumping, “We’ve been so busy trying to find people who wanted to ruin Mr. Sutter, but what if whoever tricked him wanted to _save_ him.” 

Tony looks at him, and then the light bulb bursts. 

 

The next morning, Tony calls Steve and the three of them head to Sutter Risk Management. Katie greets them with a cold aloofness, “If this is about Daren, I’ll only speak to you with a lawyer.”

“Actually ma’am,” Steve starts, “we’re here about you.”

Katie looks surprised before her mask falls back into place. 

“Can you confirm exactly when you met your husband?” Steve asks.

“Well, like I told him,” she says, gesturing to Peter, “it was in nineteen-ninety-one at a vigil for his sister Leah.”

“So that would be after her death.” 

Katie gives him a look, “Obviously.” 

Tony looks at her like a hunter eyeing prey caught in a net, “You’ve been with Daren for years, you probably know more about Leah’s case than anyone.” 

Katie nods.

“So obviously, you know about the partial fingers found on her front door that night. They were never identified, but police thought there was a chance they belonged to the killer.” 

Katie doesn’t say anything but Tony doesn’t need her to.

“But they don’t belong to the killer do they?” Tony points a lazy finger, “They’re yours.” 

Katie shakes her head, looking indignant but Tony presses on without giving her the chance to speak, “They were yours because it was you who came through the door that night, not your husband.” 

“That’s absurd.” Katie tries to defend but they can see the cracks in her armor. 

“Yesterday, Tony called me asking me to run some prints. When Peter came to talk to you, he gave you his phone. We were able to brush them for your prints and compare them to the ones we found at Leah’s house. And as luck would have it, they were a perfect match.” Steve’s expression hardens, “Which means you lied to us just now. You knew Daren before Leah died.” 

“I had no idea why you’d try to hide it, but I did a little digging and turns out you were married at the time.” Tony continues, “You and Daren were having an affair.”

Katie looks like the floor’s just fallen from under her but Peter has to give her credit for how well she maintains her composure, “Okay, so me and Daren were together before Leah died, so what?” 

Peter looks at her like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing, “So now we know why he was so sure he killed the right guy.” his jaw tightens, eyes accusing and betrayed on another man’s behalf, “Because you told him that it was.”

“Daren Sutter never saw the killer that night, _you_ did. But you couldn’t admit that without revealing your affair. So you decided that Daren would be the official witness, giving all the details you saw as if he were the one who came in that night and boom, problem solved.” Tony accuses. 

“But there was a problem, they couldn’t find the guy. And that killed Daren, which by extension, hurt you. Until one day, you found a guy who looked a lot like the killer, Wallace Rourke, and you realized the only way to give your husband the peace he never had was to insist that Rourke was the man you saw that night.”

“He _was_ the man I saw that night. Rourke killed Leah. I know it.” she insists, voice rough and pained.

“No,” Steve says, “he didn’t. We just confirmed he was out of the country. You saw someone else that night. And your husband is going to find out sooner or later, so if I were you, I’d tell us everything you know.”

Tears dribble down Katie’s cheeks, her cheeks flushed with emotion, “I loved Leah too.” she cries, “She wasn’t my sister, but...” Katie shakes her head, shoulders trembling, “After what happened, Daren changed. And he never… he never recovered. Our jobs helped him, made him feel like he was making the world safer, but when we got to the twentieth anniversary of Leah’s death, he spiralled again.”

Her tears stream over her lips as she speaks, “We tried everything. Antidepressants, therapy, _everything_. And then one day I- I” she sobs, hand pressed against her mouth, “I found him at home- with a gun- and he’d already written his note to me.” 

She stops, struggles to take a breath before calming down, “I talked him out of it but I knew in my heart he’d try again. I had to do something.” she looks at them, eyes fervent, “I had to.” 

Peter shakes his head, “No you didn’t. You made his closure moment up. Rourke looked so much like the sketch the police had already and your convincing was all it took for him to do it.”

“It was the only way to save him.” Katie insists again, eyes sincere.

“No, that’s what psych wards are for.” Tony cuts in, eyes hard.

“I didn’t want to kill Rourke.” Katie asserts, her typical composure finally hardening a shell around her again, “But between him and my husband? It was an easy choice.” 

Steve stands, “Well so is this, Katie Sutter, you’re under arrest.” 

Katie’s mouth wobbles but she looks up, proud and unbowed. 

With Katie cuffed, Steve leads her out, Peter and Tony trailing after him. Peter’s gaze is locked to the floor, his heart heavy. “We solved the murder…but why does it feel like we still lost?” 

Tony looks at him, letting out a breath, before wrapping an arm around him, “You did good kid. If it weren’t for you, Rourke would’ve never gotten justice.” 

“Yeah…but what was the point? What’s The Spider’s _point??_ ” 

“I shouldn’t have got you dragged into this. It’s probably some convoluted lesson. Go find a man who wanted revenge and see what it did to him and his family.” 

Peter frowns, worry in his eyes, “Do you think it’s a signal to you? Back off or else?” 

“I have no clue what he’s trying to get from this. But I do know that I need to go tell Sutter what happened myself. I’ll meet you at home okay?”

Peter looks almost sad as he watches Tony go.

 

Daren isn’t happy to see Tony at all. But Tony wasn’t expecting him to be. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Sutter demands, voice accusing.

“I thought you deserved to know.”

Sutter shoots out a scornful breath, shaking his head, “You said you understood me. That you experienced loss too, but what, you couldn’t wait one more night? I suffered for _twenty_ years until I killed Rourke.” 

“I know. And I know more than anyone how it feels when the man you think killed your loved one turns out to be innocent. But I’m going to find your sister’s killer. I’ll bring him to justice. I guarantee it.” Tony swears but Sutter just glares.

“You don’t get it. Unless you plan on finding the man who murdered my sister and bringing him back here to me so I can strangle him with my own two hands, there’s not going to be any justice.” he snarls. 

Tony can feel his heart pound.

He leaves the prison almost immediately after that and as soon as he’s out of the doors, Cooper’s phone rings. A familiar voice greets him. “I’ve just been informed of Mrs. Sutter’s arrest. Finally, you’ve earned your answers.”

“Don’t suppose I can tempt you into telling me in person?” Tony says, trying to regain his usual attitude. 

“The truth Stark, is that I hope we never meet. My sense is that it would be a great shame.” 

“Maybe for one of us.” Tony shoots. 

“My point, is that we can end this now. I can promise you that we’ll never cross paths again. Or,” his voice sounds like he’s smiling, “you can have your answers. I’m curious to see which you choose.” 

The phone hangs up just as a text pings from a contact with only a question mark for a name, _56 Poplar Street, Douglaston, NY. Choose wisely._

Tony’s own phone rings right after, “Peter, what’s up?” 

“Nothing, just checking in, how’d Mr. Sutter take the news?” 

“Not great, but…that’s not surprising.”

Peter hums sympathetically, “What about The Spider? Has he called yet?” there’s an odd lilt to his voice but Tony brushes it away. 

Tony thinks about what Steve said to him and thinks about the bravery in Peter’s eyes when he said he’d watch Tony’s back. 

And then he thinks about Daren Sutter and his bloodlust for revenge and without skipping a beat says, “No, not yet. I’m coming home soon. See you there.” 

 

The taxi drops Tony off at a tall black gate set between red brick pillars. Behind the gate, he can see a luxurious mansion, now worn down from lack of care. He stares through the bars, nervous about getting his answers but also desperate for them when he hears footsteps. 

He knows whose they are before he even turns around to see.

“What do you think’s inside there?” Peter asks.

Tony tries not to look too surprised. Sheepishly, Peter wiggles his phone in his hand, “Easiest way to track someone is through their phone right?”

Tony sighs, shaking his head, his lip pulling up, “You cloned Cooper’s phone?”

Peter nods. “When you asked me if I was afraid and said you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me…I knew you’d probably do something like this.” he looks hurt when he catches Tony’s eyes, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Peter, this isn’t about trusting you. It’s- listen. Everything in my life, I’ve always been on the outside looking in. I could see every part of it. But now, I’m right in the middle of the storm and I can’t see anything. And when you’re faced with uncertainty, you have to protect what you’re certain you can’t let go of.” 

“I know.” Peter says, but his voice picks up, “But I worked just as hard on this case and every other one leading up to here. I know you want your answers, but I want them too. It’s our storm. And I know you want to look out for me and I know you want to protect me, but I can take care of myself. And I trust you Mr. Stark. I’m not afraid. Not of The Spider, or Barton, or anyone. Because I have you. And you’re the best detective ever.” 

Tony swallows hard. “I don’t know what’s in there Peter.”

“I’m not going back.” 

Tony purses his lips, anxious but determined. “Okay. You win. But stay close to me alright?” 

Peter smiles, then nods, his expression serious. “Alright.”

Tony pushes the gate open, the chains wrapped around them having been long since broken. They walk down the driveway, up a set of old wooden stairs. There’s a brass vintage key in the lock of the front door. Not hesitating, Tony turns it, pushing it open, the hinges creaking as they walk inside. The house is bare except for odd bits of furniture that don’t quite match and a stray single mattress on the floor. 

Faintly, they can hear orchestra music emanating from behind them. Tony goes stiff the second he hears it. “La Bayadere.” he whispers, lips barely brushing against each other. 

He follows the orchestra like he’s entranced. They head to the back of the house, the music getting louder as they go until they see a white door. 

Tony has a look in his eye, a deep rooted fear, an overwhelming rush of emotion. The music hits the crescendo. Tony opens the door. The room is awash in a bright light, reflected off the light hardwood. There are mirrors all along the walls and dancer poles nailed atop of them. Tony trembles as he walks in, the music bursting around them. 

The violins soar alongside a victorious cymbal. 

They turn a corner. 

And then they see her. A woman practicing her demi-plies. Her hair is bright red, the colour of passion and sunsets, it curls over her shoulders. She stands on her toes, arches her knee. Peter hears Tony’s sharp breath, sees the widening of his eyes, the paleness in his face. Tony’s mouth wobbles and he tries to take a step but can’t. Peter rushes to him, eyes swimming in panic, “Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark, what’s wrong??”

But Tony can barely speak. 

He forces himself to straighten, and when his lips open Peter freezes.

“ _Nat_.” he cries, small and awed and overwhelmed, “Natasha.” 

The woman turns around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to any of you who remembered the La Bayadere ballet poster Natasha signed for Tony I put in as a clue in the earlier chapters. 
> 
> Also, I love when you guys theorize in the comments and it KILLS me that I can't confirm or deny anything but you guys are all brilliant!!
> 
> Next chapter! Natasha Romanoff's story...and a tonynat love story in flash backs ooh-la-la


	13. The Abduction of Natasha Romanoff

Natasha stares at Tony with frightened eyes and it’s then that Peter notices the bruises along her feet, the unkemptness of her clothes, the tenseness in her shoulders. She looks like she doesn’t understand what’s going. She looks around her like trying to find the threat, the joke, but all she sees is Tony, gazing her like she’s the universe itself. 

“Natasha.” he repeats, before he takes three giant strides towards her, cupping her face in his hands.

She flinches back from him and Tony’s eyes widen with hurt, “Natasha it’s me. It’s _me_.” 

And she swallows, looking into his eyes before her lip wobbles and they’re both just grasping onto each other, swaying, trembling, moments away from falling.

 

LONDON: MORE THAN TWO YEARS AGO

Tony knocks on the door to what he knows will be a stunning penthouse. He can hear orchestral music playing faintly in the background and knocks harder to make sure he’s heard. 

“Door’s open!” a woman calls and shrugging, Tony pushes the door open to enter a giant studio space. 

There are posters of various upscale ballets hung on the wall, a shelf full of different shoes of all colours, pointe and not. Alongside the posters are the iconic props for each lead, displayed carefully on the wall, a mask here, a scepter there. He steps closer, trying to determine if the tiara truly is diamond studded when he hears her walk in. 

She’s beautiful.

That’s the first thing Tony notices when he turns around. Her vibrant hair is cut short, just below her ears and her lips are full and curled into a knowing smile, “So, you’re the great P.I.” she greets.

“Actually, I prefer the term consulting detective.” Tony replies, taking off his sunglasses to tuck them neatly into his breast pocket.

“Oh? Is there some big difference I don’t know about?” 

There’s something about Natasha Romanoff, something magnetic about her pull. He feels entranced. More strangely, he’s curious. 

And he relishes it.

“If I had to make a living taking photos of cheating husbands, I’d probably just spontaneously combust or something.”

Natasha laughs and it’s so thrilling Tony’s already trying to come up with ways to hear it more. 

“Well alright Mr. Consulting Detective, how can I help you today?” 

Natasha turns her back to him, holding onto the dancer rail, stretching her leg far above her head. Tony coughs, looking away. He can see Natasha laughing at him through her reflection in the mirror. “Someone recommended me to you. Said you were the best prima ballerina in the area and that you might have something interesting to say about this case I’m working. Some piece of work with a fallen light fixture and a jealous lover.” he looks around, tilts his head to the posters, “These all yours?”

“Every one.” she confirms, still smiling like she knew a secret he didn’t.

Tony raises a brow, “What about the props, aren’t those supposed to be given back?”

Natasha shrugs, getting on her toes and arching her knees. “Depends, what’s the purpose of art do you think?”

Tony shrugs, “Never been much of an artist, that seems more your style.”

“I think art’s about appreciation. It should be hung in the place of best use don’t you think? Not left in some storage room to rot while rich people talk about where to show it off next. But either way, it doesn’t matter, these are just gift remakes anyway.”

Tony smirks, “Really? Because that seems to be the original painting _l’Art_ revolved around.”

Natasha’s lip curls up in a wry grin, “I have no idea what you mean.”

“I very much doubt that.” 

Natasha pauses, looks at him with glitter in her eyes, “Are you suggesting I stole the originals and left behind fakes?”

“I’m a detective. I’m detecting.” Tony shrugs, “But I guess you could tell me more about your views on art over dinner?”

She laughs, crossing her arms, “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Okay, a bet then. Since you obviously live for the danger.” he teases.

She raises a brow.

“If I can point out all the “borrowed” souvenirs in the room, you go out on a date with me.” 

“And if you can’t?”

“Then you answer my case questions and I’ll just leave you with my number for when you inevitably miss me.” Tony wags his brows and Natasha laughs again.

“For a consulting detective, you’re pretty bad at the turning people in part.”

Tony shrugs, “What can I say? Pissing off pretentious rich people is a hobby of mine.” 

Natasha considers him for a moment before walking over to him, “Alright, you’re on. But I’m warning you. I have very talented friends.” 

Tony holds out an arm and she takes it as they start their stroll around her living room. “I’m pretty sure that tiara was on loan from a princess. How’d you manage to fool her?” 

Natasha just looks at him, and smiles. 

 

Tony and Peter rush Natasha to the hospital just as soon as Tony can overcome his shock. Natasha is panicked the whole way, clutching at her head groaning as Tony tries to tell her all that’s happened since they’ve last seen each other. All the things he’d thought had happened. All the moments he wished they had had. But none of it makes sense to her, she can’t reconcile the world that is from the world she thought existed and it shakes her down to her core. 

“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know!!” Natasha cries, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Peter catches sight of her eyes in the mirror and flinches from how crushingly distressed they are. 

In the hospital, after the check-ups and referrals, Natasha’s doctor is grave when he stands at the end of her bed, “Miss. Romanoff, I know you’re disoriented, but it really is twenty-thirteen.” 

Natasha shakes her head, voice sure, “No. No Mr. Stapleton told me it was my birthday seven different times. I- I remember.” 

“He was lying.”

Natasha’s breathing goes harder. She can’t even look at him.

From outside the room window, Tony sits on a chair and stares. His mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and shocked down to his core. He sits perfectly still, like his brain doesn’t have the spare cells to remember how to move. 

Peter comes down the hall holding a cup of coffee. He holds it out to Tony but the man doesn’t take it. Peter pauses, then sets it down beside him. “Mr. Stark…” he starts, but he doesn’t know where to end. 

I’m here for you?

I can’t imagine what you’re going through?

Let me help you?

All of those things sound hollow, pointless. 

So Peter just sits down next to him, back straight. “After everything you told me about her, Miss. Romanoff’s going to be okay Mr. Stark. Especially since you found her.” 

Tony doesn’t say anything. 

But Peter doesn’t need him to. 

Fury walks through the doors minutes later, a bit more frenzied energy in his step than usual. He calms when he sees Tony and Peter. “Captain.” Peter greets, “Did you find anything at the house?”

Fury’s gaze flicks to Tony before turning back to Peter, “Nothing yet. CSU’s there with Steve and Thor.” 

He looks into the hospital room window where Natasha has turned over on her side, back to them. “Is that her? Romanoff?” Fury asks, barely able to believe it.

Peter nods. 

The doctor comes out of her room catching Tony’s attention. He stands up, still not saying anything, but the electricity in his eyes asks all the questions he needs. “Your friend is fine.” the doctor confirms, “Physically, she’s alright, just has a few light scrapes that’ll heal in days. But…emotionally…I’d say it was clear that she’s suffering from severe post-traumatic stress.” 

Peter frowns, heart aching, “Do you know what happened to her?”

The doctor shakes his head, “She doesn’t remember everything clearly, but what we know for sure is that she was abducted, moved from place to place. She told me about five different locations.” he purses his lips, “And then there’s the fact that her abductor used advanced psychological pressure tactics.”

Tony tenses beside him and Peter can feel his distress. 

His guilt.

“It seems like someone was trying to systematically destroy her personality and I have no idea why.”

Fury’s jaw tightens, “Did she talk about the people who took her?”

“She only dealt with one person. He called himself Mr. Stapleton. By day, he tinkered with her mind, left white peonies by her bed at night. Punishment, reward, it was all designed to make Miss. Romanoff dependent on her captor.” 

Fury nods, “Description?” 

The doctor looks even more regretful, “She was only able to tell me that he was white, about five-ten, but as far as what he looked like, she drew this.” 

He shows them a rough sketch of an angry exaggerated face mask that was almost clown-like. 

“She says he was wearing that every time he came to see her.” The doctor looks behind him at Natasha’s sleeping form, “I gave her a sedative and we’re going to keep her on psych hold for a few days. Just until we can get her adjusted.”

Peter nods, “Thank you Dr. Chan, we really appreciate it.” 

He nods back before shaking hands with Fury and walking away. 

Peter turns to Tony only to see him lost in his thoughts again, gazing at Natasha’s hair with such sorrow it physically pains him. “I don’t know why he said he doesn’t know why this happened to her.” Tony swallows, “It was because of me.” 

Tony’s hand tightens into a weak fist before he lets it go, not strong enough for anger. Smothered in his failures that taunted him and hurt everyone he loved. “The Spider wanted me to think Nat was dead. He wanted me to mourn her, to get addicted to all the drugs and the booze and the second-” he gasps, choked and haggard, “the second it looked like things were getting better. That things were looking up for me, he sent her back.” his lip wobbles, “Part of her anyway.” 

And then the bitterness rears its head and Tony’s voice drops into something gritty, “Where’d all that blood come from? The blood I saw that day. How could I have missed that she was _alive_? What did I _miss??_ ” 

“Mr. Stark.” Peter catches his gaze, “I know Miss. Romanoff’s been hurt. And I know it’s awful. But she’s alive. And we’re gonna help her get better. You can’t be angry about what happened then. It won’t help her now.”

Tony struggles to even out his breath, jaw tight, “Yeah. Okay. You’re right. She needs me right now. Whatever she needs.” 

“And we have clues too.” Peter adds, trying his hardest to remain peppy, “We can go find whoever did this. We can go back to that house and-”

“No.” Tony interrupts him almost immediately, “No. I can’t work on this case. Not anymore.”

Peter’s shocked. “What?” 

Tony looks past him, through the window, “Natasha needs me. And I’m going to be there for her, even though I couldn’t before.”

“Yeah but-”

“Peter.” Tony looks at him, bags under his eyes, “I’m just going to be dead weight on this one.” his head falls into hands, “Look at what happened. He won. The Spider won. I’m just a guy with some good observation skills. I know when I’ve met my match. I can’t beat him.” 

Peter’s expression breaks.

Tony looks away.

 

Three days later, Natasha’s discharged from the hospital and there’s not a moment’s thought before Tony is taking her back to the brownstone. Peter’s waiting for them when they arrive, having made Natasha’s bed and working on some tea. 

“This is where we live.” Tony says, gesturing into the hallway, “And here’s your room.” 

They decided to remake the smaller living room next to the kitchen her new bedroom. It’s on the main floor so she has easy access to everything and it’s bigger than the spare room upstairs. There’s a box of clothes on the bed that Fury gave them. His daughter, Maria, went through her closet for some things she could give away. All in all, it was a sweet gesture. Something neither of them would have thought of on their own. 

Natasha traces her way around the room, lightly touching everything inside like she was trying to relearn what it meant to exist. Tony and Peter leave her to her own devices, shutting the joint door into the kitchen behind them. The kettle whistles and Peter pours the water into two cups. 

“How’s she doing today?”

Tony shrugs, rubbing at his neck, “Better. But she’s still disoriented.” he snorts, almost to himself, but it’s bitter, “She has a lot of questions about The Spider obviously. But don’t we all.” 

Peter bites his lip, the water dribbles over the cup’s rim and he stops himself, embarrassed. The truth was…he had bigger questions to ask. More important ones. But…he was terrified to put them out into the world. The anxiety swirls in his stomach and he fumbles over the sugar when Tony catches his hand. It’s warm around Peter’s own and he’s reminded again of their roughness, the callouses etching the history of his labors into his skin. 

“I know I’m a hot mess right now, but I’m still adjusted enough to know something’s up kid.” 

“I- no, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Peter says, a fake smile plastered on his face, “I just got distracted for a sec.” 

Tony doesn’t look convinced. 

“Seriously. It’s fine. Here, you can take the tray over.” he hands the tray with the tea, still smiling even though his cheeks are starting to sting. 

Tony takes is slowly and then looks at him. “I need to take care of Nat, but I’m going to be distracted if I don’t know the case is going well. I need you to be my proxy.”

“Me?” 

“I trust you Peter. And Steve will keep an eye on you.”

Peter takes a breath. This might be what he needs, a big distraction. Tony had called into his school to tell them he’d be taking two weeks off due to a family emergency and his assignments had been put on hold for the time being. And if Peter had to spend one more minute doing nothing, he’s sure he’d explode. Because all he feels is an intense anxiety and loss of place that leaves him feeling like he’s untethered to anything real. 

Peter watches Tony close the door to Natasha’s bedroom behind him and feels that same pang in his chest. The same fear. Now that Natasha was here…was there a place for Peter anymore? 

He isn’t stupid. He knows Tony only came to New York to escape Natasha’s looming shadow. He knows that this thing between them, this mentee-mentor relationship, this guardianship, this almost…parental love grew because they were a team who only had each other. That both of them were broken with chasms in their heart.

It was easy, when it was just them, when Peter knew where he stood, when Tony said he was the most important thing he needed to protect and meant it. 

For the first time in Peter’s life, he’s confronted with the idea of not being anyone’s priority. And it’s silly. He knows it. But with May, it had been just him and her too. And they made it work and it was great and they were so _close_. And now, with Tony…what if now that he had the thing he was searching for…he didn’t need the lacking replacement anymore. 

What if Peter had filled the hole Natasha had left behind only for her to reclaim the space he had burrowed in as her own again? What if Tony realized he didn’t want to take care of a kid anymore, that he just wanted things to go back to what they were, in London. Where was Peter’s place now? What about their consulting work?

What about their family?

But Peter doesn’t ask any of that. Instead, he puts on his wind-breaker, and heads out the door. 

 

Stephen gives Tony a call a little while after he hears Peter exit the front door. “Hey Stephen, now isn’t a good time-”

“I know. And I’m sorry. But I had to call.” Stephen says, sounding oddly a quarter apologetic.

“Everything all good?” Tony asks, already knowing the answer. 

“With me? Peachy. With you? I’m not sure.” 

Tony doesn’t say anything, just keeps the phone pressed tight against his ear. “Tony…Peter told me what happened when you wouldn’t answer my texts. And there were some concerning things. Things that might be triggers.” Stephen finally says.

Tony sucks in a breath, “I’m not going to relapse. Not now. Not when I have things I need to do.” 

“I know you don’t want to. I know you’re committed to the process. But it still might be good to talk about it, just to clear the air.”

“Listen doc, I appreciate it. You know I do. But I’m fine.”

Tony’s mouth presses in a hard line, “I’ve hurt worse.” 

 

Peter meets the NYPD at the house they found Natasha in. “Mr. Stark can’t come today, he’s taking care of Miss. Romanoff, but I want to help. I know this case better than anyone and I know the deal was I work as Mr. Stark’s assistant but technically I’m here on his behalf so!”

Fury looks at him with understanding eyes, “We’ll make an exception today.” he allows, “Come on, we’re combing through the rooms now.” 

They head into the first living room, looking at the one mattress and a stray coat hanger. “Parker.” Fury calls, “This Spider guy, you two really think he’s out there?”

Peter nods, “We do.” 

Fury frowns but doesn’t comment until Steve walks in, nodding hello at Peter. “I figured out who owns the place, but I don’t think they’re connected to the crime.”

Fury raises a brow. 

“The guy who owns it is nine years old for starters.” Peter gapes, “He inherited the place from his uncle and the trust it’s in also pays for a caretaker to come a couple times a year. But he didn’t see anything either.” 

“So Miss. Romanoff wasn’t kept here long.” Peter says slowly.

Steve nods, “You guys find anything here yet?” 

Peter shakes his head, “But we’re not done looking. You?”

Steve grits his jaw, “That Stapleton guy must’ve known you were coming. He cleared out anything that could be important. There’s no prints or DNA evidence anywhere. And no one lives around here so it’s not like we have witnesses.” 

They go through every single room before entering the giant studio they found Natasha in originally. It’s a beautiful studio, if a little badly maintained. That’s where Peter sees them. He makes an excited noise in the back of his throat and Steve quirks a brow at him, “Peter?” 

Peter looks half in thought, trying to work something out in his head, “I think I might have found something. Maybe. I’m not sure. But since I started my detective training, Mr. Stark’s been giving me a bunch of readings to go through and one of our themes was period pieces.” he gestures to the foyer table with an old phonograph and some records. 

“It looks like a phonograph, but it’s from the second wave of them, so they were called gramophones then. You can tell because the diaphragm is linked to the recording stylus. I’d say this is an early nineteen-hundreds based on the design and the wear.” Peter looks up, ardent, “I know it’s a long shot, but these aren’t exactly from Walmart, someone had to buy this for her and there can’t be that many places that sell vintage gramophones.”

Steve raises his chin, proud, “It’s like Stark never left huh?” 

Peter smiles, but it’s almost half-hearted. 

 

LONDON TWO YEARS AGO

Natasha walks out of her apartment only to see Tony standing at the front gate, “Miss. Romanoff.” he greets, voice comically courteous. 

“Well, well, Tony Stark, the not P.I P.I.” she smiles. 

“I actually meant to ring the doorbell and not just bump into you on the street, but I guess this works too.” 

Natasha tilts her head, batting her lashes like she was asking for him to go on. 

“It’s been a couple weeks since our romantic extravaganza.”

“It was a spectacular extravaganza from what I remember.” Natasha jokes, starting to walk down the street expecting Tony to follow.

“See that’s the thing. I had a great time. You _definitely_ had a good time. But still no second date. So, I just need to know, what is it?” 

Natasha looks like she’s trying hard not to laugh, “Not used to being rejected huh?”

“First time for everything.” Tony shrugs, lip curled into a grin. “I just want to know why you don’t think it’s worth repeating.”

“Because it can’t be repeated.” Natasha answers smoothly, “As much as it hurts to boost your already ridiculously inflated ego, that night was the most memorable of my life. You can’t reproduce uniqueness. I’d rather keep the memory of it forever than ruin it with mediocrity.” 

Tony twists his lip, “I reject your entire premise. You’re trying to preserve the integrity of the experience by denying yourself other ones.”

Natasha links their arms together as they walk, her hair blowing in the breeze, “People don’t treasure things anymore.” she declares, “Everyone just wants more and more and they don’t even realize they’re getting something diluted. I value my experiences. Always have.” 

“You’re fascinating you know that?” 

Natasha smirks, “I try to be.” 

“Okay, well what if I told you I could show you another entirely unique, utterly memorable, send a post card back to your parents fantastic evening again?”

She raises a brow, intrigued, “I’m listening. But unique is a high bar Stark.”

Tony looks at her pants, “I hope those aren’t designer. Because we’re about to get dirty.” 

 

Natasha’s voice is awed as she follows Tony down a dark tunnel lit only by the flashlight in his hand, “I had no idea there were tunnels underneath Camden Market.” 

Tony holds out his hand, helping her jump across a puddle, “Yeah well they’re closed to the world because of their little flooding habit. But I found them after a case forced me underground to go through all the catacombs and tunnels. Anyway, I was walking around in there and I just knew there was a stretch of tunnel that wasn’t on any map.”

He looks at her and grins, “So a bit of dynamite here, some avoiding police there, and boom, found this place and made my own map.”

“Destruction of public property, my, my.” she teases.

“We’re a match made in heaven.” Tony quips back and smiles when he sees her hide her laugh. 

They end up at a door with a KEEP OUT, DANGER sign that Tony promptly takes off and opens, gesturing for her to go in. 

“That a good idea?” 

“What? The sign?” Tony scoffs, “I put it there myself.” 

Tony takes her hand, leading her down damp steps until they reach the bottom where Natasha gasps, squeezing his hand tight. Her eyes sparkle as she gazes at the tunnel wall, barely able to look away to ask him, “What is this place?”

“It’s an old canal, back when the Romans still occupied Britain. Those up there, those are their prayer tablets.” 

Rays of light splatter across the wall where it’s reflected off the little stream. Embedded in the stone are engraved tablets set neatly in rows. The corridor has an ethereal quality. Like they were at the edge of a dream. Natasha felt like they were unearthing history, seeing a moment out of time, just the two of them. “They’re messages from Roman citizens to their gods. They date back millennia.” Tony says, voice quiet. 

“Wow.” she breathes, unable to tear her eyes away. 

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, looking at her, “Wow. The best part is, we’re the only two people in the world who know they’re here.” 

The glitter in her eyes ignites fireworks in his heart.

 

“No NO NO!!” Natasha screams, choking on her sobs. 

Tony jumps off the couch, racing into her bedroom, “Nat! Nat!” 

Natasha shoots up, pulling at her bed sheets, hair a mess, gasping for air. She tries to speak but dry sobs instead, “He changed the rules again- Mr. Stapleton. He changed the rules and he didn’t tell me!” she wails, rocking back and forth. 

Tony tries to hug her but she pushes him away from her, pulling at her hair, “No. No just-!” she heaves, struggling to intake air.

Tony watches her, heart beating in his chest, eyes wide. “Okay. Okay. I’ll go get you some water. It’s okay.”

But Natasha shakes her head like she’s just realized what she’s done, takes a breath, “No. No come here. Sit beside me.” her eyes are big and pleading, “Tell me about your life. I need a distraction.” 

Tony turns to look at her, “Nat… we don’t have to.”

“I want to.” she looks at him, expression aching, “I missed you. I want to know about your life, about the last year and a half. I mean, you moved to New York! There has to be a story there.”

Tony swallows, looking pained before they both hear the door open, “Mr. Stark, I’m back!” 

Tony points awkwardly to the side, “I should go see what they found out.”

He pretends not to see the disappointment in her eyes. 

Tony meets Peter in the living room and jumps right into it, “Found anything yet?” 

“Actually-” Peter’s phone rings and he looks up, apologetic.

“Hey Captain.” 

Peter turns the phone on speaker and Tony walks closer, “Your gramophone tip paid off kid. It came from a specialty antique shop in Tribeca. They kept a record of sales and this specific one was sold a few weeks ago to a guy named Duane Proctor. He did a five year stretch a while back for assault with a deadly weapon.” 

Peter can’t stop from smiling, looking at Tony with excitement. “That’s great. Do you know where he is?” 

“His PO says he’s been crashing with his brother since he got out. We’re on our way to talk to him right now.” 

 

Fury brings a whole squadron with him, it’s a precaution, especially when they know Proctor was already in the system for assault and was now being questioned about another violent crime. He, Steve, and Thor knock on the door only to find Duane’s brother, at home instead. 

“Listen, I’m sorry but there’s no way Duane was part of anything.” he insists, “Especially not a , what did you say it was? An abduction?”

“Your brother did a stint in Sing Sing didn’t he?” Fury presses and the man groans.

“Yeah. He did. And he also made a genuine effort to reform himself. I tutor kids here, I wouldn’t let him stay with me if I didn’t actually believe that.” 

Someone knocks on the door, “Captain, Duane Proctor just pulled up.” 

Fury nods, gesturing for Thor to stay inside, “Rogers, with me.” 

Fury steps outside the house, hands clasped behind him, “Duane Proctor?”

He looks confused, “Yeah?” 

“I’m Captain Fury of the NYPD, we were wondering if we could ask you some questions about Natasha Romanoff.” 

Duane crosses his arms, brows still furrowed, “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

Steve shrugs, “I doubt you kidnapped her and never asked for her name.”

The man’s arms drop, his expression shocked, “What? What the hell are you guys talking about??”

“Don’t waste your time.” Steve cuts in, “The gramophone you bought? Natasha was using it when she was found.”

“A gramophone?” if possible, he looks even more confused, “Yeah, I bought that. I didn’t know it was for this Natasha whoever. I bought that stuff for Isaac. My brother. He’s a tutor.” he says, as though that explains everything, “He wanted to do a music segment or something.” 

Something dawns in Fury’s eyes and he whips around, eye bright just as gunshots ring out from inside the house. “Motherfu-” he whips around, “Rogers, on him!” 

Fury runs inside the house, waving a hand for two uniforms to follow after him. He kicks down the door, gun up, “Proctor!” 

But there’s no one inside, except for a body on the ground. “Thor!” Fury yells, crashing to his knees.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Thor groans, putting pressure on the wound in his thigh, “Get that son of a bitch. He went out the back way.”

“Go!” Fury commands and the two officers run the other way. 

Quickly, Fury clicks on his radio, “I need an ambulance and someone put out a goddamn BOLO for Isaac Proctor- we got the wrong brother!”

 

Duane Proctor is borderline flippant in the interrogation room and Steve’s temper rises with every moment. 

“I have no idea why my brother would do that. I didn’t even know he had a gun.” Duane insists, practically complaining. 

Steve’s jaw tightens as he circles around him, “We found a small _arsenal_ in his garage. He had guns, silencers, passports with _three different names_.” 

Duane looks up, eyes steady, “And I’m just as confused about it as you are. Isaac was supposed to be the good one. The smart one. Before he was tutoring kids he worked at a goddamn think tank.” 

Steve bites the inside of his lip to keep his frustration at bay. But it was hard to focus when his thoughts kept flitting back to his partner in surgery trying to get a bullet out of him. 

“Did your brother ever mention a guy called The Spider?”

“No. He never mentioned him.”

Steve leans closer and Duane flinches, “I swear! If he told me, I’d tell you! I don’t want to go back to prison!” 

From behind the one-way glass, Natasha has her arms wrapped around herself, chin up like she was trying to be brave, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember his face or his voice. If he ever came into the same house as me, I don’t remember it.” 

Fury nods, disappointed, “What about his brother?” he hands her a photo. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again, shaking her head, “I just can’t tell.” 

Peter can see the frustration peeking out through her façade and he touches her arm gently, “It’s okay. You were really brave to come here Miss. Romanoff.”

She looks at him with appraising eyes before Tony takes her hand, “If that’s it, we’re gonna bounce. It’s been a long day. Tell Thor I’ll come by later with some of those meat skewers he likes.” 

He nods at Peter as he goes and then it’s just him and the Captain. He tries hard not to feel like an abandoned puppy because it really isn’t like that. Tony’s trusting him to see through this case because he can’t. If anything- that’s the most important thing Tony could ever do. Without having to say so, he told Peter he trusts him implicitly, that he’s putting the one thing he’s obsessed over for so long into his hands. And Peter wants to feel happy.

But he can’t. 

Because he doesn’t think Natasha likes him very much. And if Natasha didn’t like him then…what about him and Tony? 

Fury shakes his head, jolting Peter from his thoughts, “It’s weird seeing him walk away from a case. I get it, but,” he shakes his head again, “still weird.”

Peter shrugs, “He’s got a lot on his mind.” is his lame excuse, “But what about Thor, is he gonna be okay?” 

“I just got a call from the hospital before we brought you in here, they pulled the bullet out. And the big guy’s too stubborn to actually die, so yeah, he’ll be okay.”

Peter presses a hand to his heart, “Oh thank God.” 

“We’re lucky Proctor aimed for his thigh. All the weapons he had? All modified. They had suppressors, silencers, everything you could think of. Tells us Proctor was a pro. He could’ve killed Thor if he wanted to.” 

Peter bites his lip, “So what now?” 

“Now, we dig into Isaac’s background, see if we can’t connect him to your Spider character. In the meantime, hopefully the BOLO springs something.” 

 

Somewhere in the city, Isaac shaves off his beard and mustache in a motel bathroom when his phone rings. Wiping off the excess cream, he answers the call, annoyed, “Ten tries for you to finally call me back?”

“Don’t blame me, you’re the one who screwed the pooch. I had to tell the boss what was up.” the man sighs, “How’d the police even find you?”

“I don’t know Barton, all I need to know is if you can help me or not. My face is all over the news.”

“Do you even have to ask? Of course we can. But first, you have to run a little errand for us. It involves our favourite little detective. Remember Tony Stark?” 

 

LONDON MORE THAN A YEAR AGO

“Oh my God Tony, you’re doing this now?” 

Natasha settles her cheek against his collarbone, pulling the blankets over their bodies. Tony’s scribbling something furiously on a pad of paper, “Honey, you should feel flattered. We just had some of the world’s best sex. Record breaking probably. My brain’s full of that sweet, sweet brain juice and this case has been bothering me for weeks.” 

She watches as he draws, stroking circles into his chest. “Mmm?”

“I still can’t figure out how he chooses his victims. But the only consistency is the way he kills them. He hangs their bodies from a tripod device, like this,” he goes over his lines to show her, “and then he-”

“Drains their blood, I remember.” Natasha props herself up on her elbow, staring at him with those dark eyes, “Is that all I am now? A piece of exercise equipment for your brain?” 

Tony looks up, smirking, “Well if that’s the case, you’re the best piece of exercise equipment a person could throw a leg over.” 

“Wow. That has to be Shakespeare right?” she drawls.

She pulls away but Tony drops the pad, wrapping his arms around her to pull her into him, kissing her neck, laughing, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! That was rude.” 

She turns her face away, pretending to be angry, a smile pulling at her lips, “You’re always rude. I’m trying to figure out why it doesn’t bother me.”

Tony pulls away, a goofy grin on his face, “Uhh, that’s because _you’re_ rude too.” 

She jerks her head back, raising her brows. Tony just smiles more fondly, cupping her face, leaning closer, “Come on Nat, you’re honest. Brutally honest. And boring people might think you’re rude, but I think you’re hilarious.” 

She laughs, rolling over so she’s on her side of the bed on her back. Tony grins lewdly, stretching above her to press a kiss to her shoulder. She gives him a look, “You know we’re not gonna be making any more brain juice tonight right?” 

But Tony’s just tracing circles atop her shoulder, looking more in love than ever before, “Your birthmarks, you know they’re the exact same shape as the constellation Auriga?”

“See now _that_ could be Shakespeare.” 

Tony snorts, tracing the lines between her birthmarks more, “I’m surprised I didn’t notice before.” he looks in Natasha’s eyes, “Even after all this time, you’re still a mystery.” he declares dramatically, laughing when she swats him with her pillow.

“God you’re a dork.” 

“ _Your_ dork!” 

“That’s worse!” 

“Oh come on! I can be romantic! You’re my blind-spot Natasha Romanoff. And I like that I can’t see everything about you. It’s rare for me.” 

“That’s just a pseudo compliment to yourself shellhead.” Natasha slips out of bed, wrapping a robe around her, “But I guess I’ll make do.” 

Tony crosses his arms behind his head, watching her. “By the way, when do I get to see the new project?”

“Project?”

“The dance.” Tony says, enjoying how her eyes widen in faintly hidden surprise. “You bought new shoes. I know it’s your good luck charm.” 

Natasha smiles, “You’ll see it when it’s ready to be seen.” 

Tony pouts, “Aww come on Nat, you can show me. I promise I won’t leak it to the press.” 

“Nuh uh, I’m choreographing something really special. It has to be perfect when you see it.” 

“Everything you do is perfect.” Tony says, before he can even think about it, but the look she gives him is worth it.

 

“Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? A salty snack?” Tony asks, leaning against the living room doorway, watching as Natasha flicks through channel after channel on the TV.

“I’m fine.” she won’t look at him, won’t even turn her head, “This must be hard for you.” she finally says.

“What is?”

“Having me here.” she answers, as though it was just a fact, not some heartbreaking reality, “I know how much you see. I can’t imagine what you’re picking up from me right now.” 

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that. He decides to just be honest, “You know, you were the only person I ever empathized with.” 

And it’s true. Because he’s felt sympathy and apathy but to truly experience someone else’s emotions was something he’d never done before. He was narrow-visioned and pragmatic and more than a little self-centered. But he’d changed here, in New York. Something happened, something good. He wasn’t the person he was when he first met Natasha. 

He was better. 

But…

“Empathy.” Natasha says scornfully, “You really have changed.”

Tony nods though she doesn’t look, “I had to.” he says simply, “After you ‘died’, every bad habit became an addiction I couldn’t shake. The drugs, the alcohol...”

Tony shakes his head, going to sit across from her and Natasha finally looks at him. 

“Tony-”

“I was broken.” Tony admits, unable to look at her, “I thought the alcohol was helping, but it wasn’t. And when I couldn’t find your killer, I hit absolute rock bottom and Scotland Yard kicked me out on my ass and I ended up running away here to hide. But when my dad found out just how low I’d gotten, he forced me into rehab.” 

“You’re better now.” she says, face sincere and hopeful.

“No. I’m sober now.” he corrects, “I’ll always be an addict. And I’m just- I’m sorry.” he finally says, looking her in the eye, “I want to say I honored your memory, but I just fucked it all up instead.”

His expression trembles for just a moment, “I want you to know, that I’m taking full responsibility for what happened to you. I’ll never be able to make it up to you, but I promise you, I’ll never stop trying.” 

Natasha smiles at him, getting up to crouch in front of him, holding his hand. She looks at him with forgiveness, absolution, a gentle touch, “You were broken and you fixed yourself. If the great Tony Stark can do it, then,” she smiles self-deprecatingly, “it gives me hope that I can too.” 

She straightens, kisses him lightly on the cheek before walking to her bedroom. Tony sits there, unable to really move when Natasha screams and he leaps into action. He runs into her bedroom to find her huddled against herself eyes locked onto the bed. There, atop her perfectly made sheets, is a single white peony. 

“He was here.” 

Natasha trembles and trembles.

“Mr. Stapleton was here.” 

 

LONDON A LITTLE MORE THAN YEAR AGO 

Tony plays the recording on his phone one more time, unable to help the smile that grows on his face uncontrollably. “Tony, my choreography is finally done, and you’re formally invited to be the first to see it. I’m out of town for a few days, but I’ll be back Friday. Meet me at my place at five.” 

Tony walks right into her complex holding a bottle of champagne with the key she’d given him, throwing open her front door with aplomb, “Honey I’m home!” he jokes, “I know I’m late, but I have the most dazzling of excuses-”

Tony stops dead. 

Taped to the dining chair is a familiar string of cut out magazine letters. _I understand Ms. Romanoff was to show you a new art piece this evening. Tell me, what do you think of mine? – M_

The bottle crashes to the floor. The champagne gushes out intermixing with the giant pool of blood, stagnant on the floor. 

 

Tony pulls open the door of a refurbished warehouse, hustling Natasha inside. It’s pitch black until he flicks on the lights, revealing a small studio type apartment. “I thought you were taking me somewhere safe.” Natasha hisses, “This is a garage.” 

“Trust me, it’s more than that. I got the place as payment for some work I did when I first got to the city. I was gonna sell it but then I realized it might make a passable safe house.” 

Natasha doesn’t look convinced but drops her bag onto the bed anyway. “You sure we weren’t followed?”

“Positive. Trust me, no one knows more counter-surveillance tactics than I do.”

Natasha wraps her arms around herself, pursing her lips, “Well what about your house? Shouldn’t we call the police?”

Tony walks towards her, letting his hands slide from her shoulders down to her arm, “Nat. I need you to calm down. I’m handling it. I texted Peter, he’s going to bring them over to process the scene okay?”

But Natasha still looks on edge, her arms crossed as she pulls away, “It doesn’t make any sense. This Spider… he _let me go_. He told you where to find me.” she whirls around, “So why would his people leave that flower on my pillow?” 

Tony sighs, “It was a message.”

“Why?”

“It was for me. He’s trying to tell me that as long as you’re in my life, you can and evidently, _will_ be used against me.” 

“Natasha, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, but next to a will and mind like The Spider’s, you’re weak. And because I care about you, so am I.” Tony’s heart twists, “Which is why I have to let you go.” 

Natasha’s neck snaps up, “What?” she asks, shocked to her core.

Tony shakes his head, looking like every word pains him, “You can’t stay here Nat. We have to send you somewhere far away, somewhere you’ll actually be safe. When I finish with The Spider, I’ll find you.”

“You make it sound so easy.” she scorns.

“I can’t let anything else happen to you.” Tony whispers, raw and vulnerable.

Natasha softens, “I don’t want to lose you Tony. We only just found each other again.” 

Tony shakes his head, “There’s no other way to protect you.” 

Natasha’s eyes glitter, “What if there was?” 

 

Peter hands over the security tapes of all the hidden cameras in the house to Steve and they make short work of finding the perpetrator. They call Fury in to show him a paused image. “It’s Isaac Proctor.” Steve says, “Now we know for sure he was involved in Romanoff’s abduction.”

“I don’t get it though.” Peter says, fingers at his temple, “Why would he bother with that? He’s on the run, but he has time to mess with Miss. Romanoff’s head? All the evidence makes him look like a professional, not a psychopath.” 

Fury taps his fingers atop the table, “We have to assume he’s following orders.”

He turns to Peter, “You heard from Tony yet?”

That familiar worry tangles inside his stomach, “No, I called him a couple times, but he didn’t answer.” 

Someone comes in at that moment, knocking on the door, “Captain, got Stark for you on line one.” 

Fury meets Peter’s eyes, “About time.”

At the same time, Peter’s phone pings and he checks it underneath the table. It’s from Tony. _Am here. obs room. Want 2 c u. only u_.

“Hello?” Fury repeats into the phone before the dial tone rings, “I hate this line b.s, why didn’t he just call my cell?”

“Maybe he’ll call you back.” Peter suggests awkwardly, standing up quickly, “I’m gonna go get a coffee, anyone want anything?” he doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s out the door.

Peter walks into the room behind the one-way glass in the interrogation room, it’s dark, but Tony’s sitting on a small chair in the corner. The second Peter sees him, he knows somethin’s wrong. 

“Where’s Miss. Romanoff?”

“Safe.” 

“So why are we hiding?”

Tony’s fingers grip into his knees. “I trust Fury and Steve. You know that. But The Spider’s everywhere apparently, so the fewer people who know where I am, the better.” 

Peter nods, “Okay. I can keep it on the down low. There are some things you should know though. That think tank Isaac worked at? It’s actually a CIA front. He worked as an interrogator for them in the nineties.” Peter’s eyes are grave, “His speciality was psychological pressure tactics.” 

Tony’s lip tightens, “You think we found ‘Mr. Stapleton’?”

“I know we did. I saw Isaac in the tapes from home putting the flower on her bed. But…” Peter bites his lip “there was something else. Isaac came in through the kitchen door and went straight into Miss. Romanoff’s room. He knew exactly where she was staying.” 

Peter catches Tony’s gaze, “How could he have known that?” 

“You think The Spider bugged our house too? But with cameras?” 

Peter’s mouth presses into a line, “I don’t know. Anything’s possible right? But we have a lot to do.” 

Tony’s expression almost crumbles in that moment and Peter almost wishes the Earth would stop spinning so time could stop and he wouldn’t have to hear the words that came next.

“Peter, I’m leaving New York.” 

Peter feels the ground disintegrate beneath him.

“What?” 

He can barely speak. 

“Natasha isn’t safe here, but she refuses to leave without me.” Tony’s eyes are desperate, “I need to get her out of here.” 

Peter shakes his head, every one of his fears coming into play. He feels like collapsing, he feels like crying, he feels like laughing because _how could he have been so stupid??_

“Peter, I know this is hard and I know you don’t want to leave New York, but I promise it’ll be temporary. I can’t say when, but as soon as I figure out this Spider thing, I’ll bring us all back home.” 

“Mr. Stark wait you can’t- we can’t just go. We have _lives_ here! _Friends!_ ” his voice cracks, “A family.” 

“I have to Pete.” 

Peter shakes his head, tears sprinkling at the edge of his lashes, “No you don’t. You don’t have to. You just think you owe it to her.”

“I _do_ owe her.” Tony rasps, “I ruined her life.” 

Peter takes a step closer, eyes pleading, “No. He did. The Spider.” And in that moment Peter hates him. He hates the faceless man that crawled into their lives and ruined every bit of it. He hates him he hates him he hates him.

Being a detective was fun. At first it was a road to vindication and justice for his aunt. Then it was a distraction from her death, then it became a calling and now it was his life. It used to be fun. 

But now…now he wishes…

“Mr. Stark, we’re so close. We’re so so close to finding out who The Spider is once and for all. If you just stayed here with me, we could figure it out. I know we could. Leaving is exactly what the Spider wants! And if it’s what he wants then it’s wrong!” 

But Tony shakes his head, looking terribly sad. “I can’t Peter. I can’t risk anything happening to her again.”

“But what about me?” Peter finally bursts out, tears running over his cheeks.

Tony’s shoulders drop, he lifts a finger to brush away at his tears, “I’m sorry Peter. I know you love it here. I know you do. But I can’t let her stay here and I can’t go without you. You’re my kid.” 

Peter’s eyes shine. 

He wanted to hear those words, wanted to hear them desperately. But not like this. He didn’t want it this way. He didn’t want to be crying and Tony on the brink of leaving. And he’s not leaving without Peter but it still hurts just as much. 

“You’re my kid,” Tony repeats, “and it sucks, but that means you gotta go where I go. But I promise I’m going to bring us back. And I’m going to give you time to say goodbye. I called someone over, someone who’ll keep you safe and bring you over without being found. He’s an old friend, I think you’ll really like him.” 

Tony draws him in for a hug and Peter is motionless in his arms. “I know you hate this. I know you’re mad. But I can’t lose her,” his voice breaks, “and I can’t lose you and I don’t know what to do. So please, I need you to trust me.” 

Peter doesn’t move at all even when Tony pulls away. He doesn’t move when Tony slips out the door, closing it behind him. He doesn’t move until all the tears have dried on his skin and all he hears is his lonely heartbeat. 

He knows how Tony feels, he doesn’t want to leave Tony behind either. But he knows in his heart that what they’re doing is wrong. And he knows they can’t go, not until they finish this. And he knows that it’s fear that’s keeping Tony from seeing that. Fear and love. Both things Tony’s never really had to encounter before, not for the great detective, not for all his rationality and pragmatism. 

The worst part of Peter wishes they’d never found Natasha. 

The better part of him hates him for it.

 

In an empty parking lot in the dark save for one truck, Isaac Proctor walks behind it carrying a black bag. He hits the back of the truck once. It opens with a flourish and he’s helped up inside by two men. He lets them frisk him, frowning as he looks to see only one other man, “What? Barton too good to show up?” 

“He’s predisposed.” the man says, “You followed?” 

“No. I’m alone.” 

The man smiles, throwing him a pair of keys. “The plates are clean, there’s thirty thousand and a phone in the glove compartment. You drive to Calgary, and you wait. The next instructions you’re gonna get are on the burner so stay close to it.” 

Isaac notices something flashing behind the car, and sees something beneath it. He looks at the man, “Will I be allowed to call home?” he asks slowly. 

Sirens wail in the back and Isaac snarls, grabbing the gun from his pocket and whirling around to shoot the two thugs in the chest before turning his gun on the first man. He lifts his hands in the air calmly, “Think this through.” The man says, “if you kill me-”

“Shut up.” Isaac shouts. 

He pulls out his phone where the man can see he’s taped another one beneath it, blaring with the siren ringtone, the one atop reading Home. “I’m impressed. You voice activated one phone to call the other.” 

Isaac smiles mockingly, “That metal drum in the trunk there, you were gonna hide my body with it. Whose idea?”

The man smiles, but it’s cold. “You were sloppy. The police should’ve never been able to find you. The Spider can’t tolerate that.”

Isaac sneers, flicking the gun in his direction, “The Spider thinks _I’m_ sloppy? Who left standing orders never to hurt Tony Stark? The only reason I’m not killing you is so that you can report back.” his eyes flash with the promise of violence, “I don’t know why the boss is obsessed with Stark- doesn’t want him touched.” Isaac licks his lips, “But you tell The Spider that Tony Stark is a dead man walking.” 

 

Tony walks back into the safehouse, down the short hall into the studio room. “Nat?” 

“I didn’t think you’d be gone so long.” Natasha replies, drying her hair off with a towel, wrapped in one of Tony’s bathrobes. 

“I’ve been busy. I had to tell Peter the plan.”

She looks confused, tilting her head in that way of hers, “I still don’t understand that. Peter. You never explained him to me.”

“There’s not a lot to explain. His aunt died. I took him in. Trained him. He’s my responsibility now.” The topic makes him shifty, his eyes dart around before he tries to steer the conversation back. 

Natasha takes his abrupt change of topic as a sign to turn away, gathering her clothes to change into. 

“I figured out a way to get us out of here without alerting anyone.” Tony says quickly, “We’re going to take a Greyhound to Maine. I have a friend there who can get us some passports. Then the trick is conscripting a boat to take us to Newfoundland. Once we’re at St. John’s airport, we can go literally-” Tony freezes, staring at Natasha’s back while she strips from her robe.

“What?” she teases, “Is that as far as you’ve gotten?” she tugs a tank top over her head, “It’s okay, we don’t have to map out our future twenty steps ahead. We’ll be spontaneous. It’ll be fun.” 

But Tony can’t speak, his finger raises to his forehead like he’s trying to think but it stops mid-air. He can’t stop staring at her shoulder, heart pounding. Natasha turns around, her expression tightening in worry when she sees his face, “Tony?” 

Tony walks towards her, standing at her side so he can brush her hair from her shoulder. When he confirms what he already knows is true, his entire heart shatters. “Tony, what’s going on?” Natasha asks, looking afraid. 

Tony pulls away from her, shaking his head as he walks backwards, “How could I have been this stupid. What the _hell_ is wrong with me.” He rubs at his face, unable to stop shaking. 

Natasha balks, flinching back, “Tony stop it. You’re freaking me out.” 

Tony’s voice drops, it’s so low Natasha can barely hear him, so hollow it barely takes up space in the room, “How long have you been working for him?” he whispers. 

Natasha’s eyes widen, “What?” 

“The Spider!” Tony finally shouts, “How long have you been working for him!”

“Tony you’re not making any _sense_.” 

But Tony’s irate, insistent, torn apart by his new revelation, “Your constellation, Auriga. One of the stars is missing.” Natasha looks confused and Tony’s hand arcs and twists in the air, “Your birthmarks, you had one surgically removed.” 

Natasha shakes her head, taking a step back, “I don’t know what you’re-”

“Your _birthmarks_.” Tony repeats, “What? It was probably pre-cancerous right? So of course you had to take it off. But _you_ had it removed. Not The Spider. Because why would he care? So? When did it start? Was it before your abduction?” Tony’s voice cracks, “Was everything a lie?” 

Natasha is unwavering, “I’ve never lied to you.” 

But Tony can’t even look at her and suddenly she’s rushing at him, taking his face between her hands, so soft and warm, staring at him with compassion and sweetness, “You get like this Tony, you get like this. You look so closely at things that you see things that aren’t there. You know you do.” she coaxes and Tony tries to pull from her grip but she traps him in her orbit.

“If you can’t trust anyone. If you can’t trust _me_.” she paws at his lapel, her breath mingles with his own, “Please Tony. Don’t do this.” 

Tony’s mind races a million miles per second, his fingers fall at Natasha’s chin, “Peter asked me, he _asked_ me. How did Isaac Proctor know where to put the flower? And now I know.” he looks Natasha in the eye and tries to search for _why_ , “You told him.” 

Natasha snarls at him, ripping away from his grip. She turns to the bed, stuffing her clothes into her bag, “You’re calling me a liar when _you’re_ the one who lied. You said you wanted to come with me, but you don’t! And now you’re making up excuses not to. What? Did you try to say goodbye to your little pet project and then feel bad?”

Tony flinches.

“You know, it’s funny.” Natasha says, derisive and cold, “I close my eyes and try to picture _him_ and I see someone that looks exactly like you.” she pushes past him, eyes cruel, “And I think you do too. I think, if you weren’t so bent on him being your enemy, he’d be your friend.”

She tugs on a jacket, opens the door, “When you realize the mistake you’ve made, don’t try and find me.” Anger broils in her eyes, “I don’t ever want to see your face again.” 

The door slams and the vibrations dislodge every last remaining piece of his heart from his chest. Tony thought he’d known what suffering was when he first saw proof of Natasha’s death. Now he knows, that had only been a taste. 

 

Tony races home, calling Peter as soon as he sees there are no lights inside. “Peter, listen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything.” he turns the key in the lock, pushing the door open into a dark house. I’m not going anywhere. _We_ aren’t going anywhere I-” Tony stops, in the reflection of the metal lamp, he sees a figure behind him.

Quickly, he ducks to the floor, but the shot rings out and he feels a raging pain in his left arm. “Argh!” he falls to the ground, clutching at the wound while blood pools between his fingers. 

“Sorry about that Stark, I meant for this to be clean.” 

Tony groans, trying to pull himself up using the bannister, “Mr. Proctor,” he greets, “pleasure to meet you.” 

“Actually,” Isaac says, raising the gun to finish him off, “we met once before.” 

Tony succeeds in pulling the loose bannister out of its socket, swinging it at Isaac’s head but Isaac sees it coming and punches him straight in the stomach, once, twice, three times. Tony wheezes, the air knocked right out of him. Isaac grins, grabbing the rail still in Tony’s hands and shoving him into the wall, choking him with it. 

Tony manages to heave his knee into Isaac’s groin, pushing him off before stumbling up the stairs, panting as he goes. The pain in his arm is excruciating, it’s a fire that laps at every bit of him, but he forces his way up the stairs, barricading himself in Peter’s room. He drags a desk over, shoves it against the door. He rushes to the window to open it but knows he can’t make the jump down. 

Shots ring out, bullets piercing through the wooden door. Tony yelps, crouching on the floor, ducking his head beneath his arms. “You said we met before!” he yells, trying to buy time, “But I never forget a face.”

“I had you at a disadvantage.” Isaac calls, “I was looking at you through a sniper scope.”

Tony’s eyes widen.

It was him. The man who shot Douglas through the window, it had been Isaac all along. 

Tony tries to inch his way across Peter’s room to see if he had anything hidden he could use, but the bruises on his torso make it hard for him to move and he can hear Isaac ramming himself into the door, shooting more bullets into the knob. “Why kill me now then?” he yells. 

Tony tries to raise himself up, but collapses again just as Isaac kicks open the door, gun raised until he sees Tony helpless on the ground, clutching at his arm. “I was under orders that day.” Isaac says, grunting, “The Spider said you weren’t to be harmed.” he shrugs, “But then, a few hours ago, she tried to have me killed.” 

Tony’s entire being pulses, “She?” 

Isaac raises the gun and four shots ring out. 

A body crashes into the floor. 

Isaac chokes on his blood, eyes wide open as he draws his last breath. 

Tony’s eyes widen, he rolls back, trying to crawl away from the door when someone walks in, gun first. Natasha’s eyes are dark as she surveys the body, jaw tight. Tony flinches back. He’s never seen her like this. Focused, lethal, remorseless. She tilts her head. 

“Bet you wish you’d run away with me when you had the chance, huh shellhead?” 

And for the first time, Tony looks at her and finally understands who he’s seeing. 

Who Natasha has always been. 

“The Spider.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the last chapter is next. That's so wild. But it's gonna be A DOOOOOZY. and a bit evil :)))) anyway i'm so happy a lot of your theories were valid!! you guys are awesome at seeing all the hints! Tell me what you guys think!!


	14. Case Closed

Tony winces as he clutches his arm, staunching the blood flow. Natasha’s brows draw together in concern before she looks away, regret in the curve of her lips, “This isn’t what I was imagining you know. This wasn’t the reveal I wanted. But,” she looks down at the body, eyes hard, “Proctor forced my hand.” 

Tony pants, his breaths coming in short as the pain runs up and down his body like a current, “So what? You had me talking to a lackey on the phone this whole time?” 

Natasha smiles, but it’s faint, “He’s a lieutenant of mine. Plays the role of ‘The Spider’ pretty well don’t you think?” she shrugs, “I mean, he’s had a lot of practice. I have to hide who I am to do what I do, plus,” she adds wryly, “feminism isn’t exactly the criminal world’s foreplay.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, “Men think they have a monopoly on everything.” she kicks idly at Proctor’s still form, “Even murder.” 

Tony doesn’t want to believe her. He wants to believe she’s just being manipulated- hurt Tony or we’ll hurt you. But his senses know better. He can see it in her ease holding the gun, the lack of apathy in her eyes when she looks at her victim, the military stance. Natasha is The Spider, the leader of an underground criminal syndicate that led to countless deaths and billions being exchanged between the morally bankrupt.

All Tony can ask- brokenly, terribly, sadly, “Why?” 

She tilts her head in that faux innocent way of hers, “You’re the detective shellhead, you tell me.” 

He grunts, forcing himself upright so at least he could sit up and face her- his one last act of defiance. He’s heartbroken and damaged and undoubtedly angry. But Natasha is right. He’s a detective. And his brain never stops working. 

“Obviously I interrupted a plan of yours. Back in London.”

Natasha’s voice drops, “Try seven plans. Do you know how much I was going to make from those assassinations?”

“Ok, so you thought oh, I know what’d really punish him. Sex obviously.” Tony snipes.

Natasha rolls her eyes, “You’re always so dramatic. If it makes you feel better, I was planning on killing you, quick and easy. But, the more I learned about you, the more fascinated I got.” She crouches down, stroking the side of his face.

Tony flinches back.

Natasha carries on like he hadn’t. 

“Finally, someone on my level. A mind more complicated and too beautiful to just destroy without experiencing it first. I wanted to understand what made that special brain tick. So I thought, hey. Why not?”

Tony shirks back, shaking his head, “So you became Natasha Romanoff. Is that even your real name?” 

“My real name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova. But…my past is a tricky thing. You should understand that.” 

Tony doesn’t say anything.

“I was surprised though, that day you came to visit me. I didn’t think we’d have so much in common.” she muses. 

“I’m not like you.” Tony sneers.

Natasha raises a brow. “Aren’t you? I know you have an ego the size of Manhattan about how unique you are. But the truth is, I see everything you do. I _feel_ it.” she gets up, “It’s boring isn’t it? Being able to look at someone and know everything about them.” 

“You’re saying we’re the same?” 

“No.” Natasha’s eyes glint, “I’m saying I’m better.” 

“It’s why I let you live in London. I realized you weren’t the threat I thought you were. So I finished my experiment with you and carried on. And then right after, you proved I was better when you disappeared into a bottle.” she shakes her head, “I was disappointed Tony.” 

Tony sucks in a breath, aching in every possible way. Aching at the thought that he fell into the worst period of his life for- he looks at Natasha. For what?

“Why’d you come to New York. You said you were done with me.” he says bitterly.

She pushes out her lip, “I heard you recovered, I wanted to see how far you’ve come.”

“Bullshit. That’s risky even for you. You only came because I was getting too close to another project. That’s why you wanted to get me out of the country.” 

Natasha sighs, looking like she knew something he didn’t, “You didn’t change at all did you? You look at people and see puzzles. Me? I see games. And you?” she looks at him, bending down to tip his chin up, “You’re a game I’ll win every time shellhead.” 

Tony rips away from her grip, eyes dark, “You should just go ahead and shoot me right now because whatever you’re here to do, I’ll find out, and I’ll stop you.” 

She looks horrified at the very thought, “I’d never kill you Tony. You’re not as unique as you think you are, but you’re still a work of art. And you know how much I appreciate art.” 

She turns away, heading for the door, before stopping, her back to him, “What I _will_ do though, is hurt you. Worse than I did before. You haven’t seen me at my most creative yet.” she glances back at him, eyes pleading, “So please, for your own good, let me win.” 

 

When Peter comes home, it’s to Stephen digging out a bullet from Tony’s arm in the middle of the living room, “What the hell!!” 

“Peter I’m in the middle of something!” Stephen hisses, carefully pulling the slug out and setting it on a plate. 

“Yeah I can see that! What the hell happened?” 

Tony looks up, face pale, sweat dribbling down his brow, “Hey Pete, there’s a lot for us to catch up on.”

Stephen pulls out a thread and needle, handing them over to Tony. “You’re gonna need a hospital Tony, like I told you over the phone. You know, when you called me yelling.” 

“I said I was sorry about that.” Tony says through gritted teeth, “But like I told _you_ , I don’t have time for that. What’s the point of being friends with an ex-surgeon if he can’t pull out a little bullet.”

“I shouldn’t even be doing this- you know it’s hard.”

“You did fine. I’m doing the fine work myself aren’t I?” Tony says, wincing as he pulls the last thread through his bicep.

Peter takes in a huge breath, ready to yell for all the world to hear. 

“Mr. Stark, if someone doesn’t tell me what the hell is going on right now I’m going to have a panic! Attack!” 

 

“Holy shit. Natasha was The Spider the whole time?? What the hell!” Peter’s furious, eyes blazing, “Who does that?? That’s psychotic!”

Tony doesn’t say anything, just purses his lips as Stephen tapes a bandage to his arm, handing him a sling to keep his arm in place. “You need pain killers. Hospital ones.” Stephen says quietly.

“I can’t. I need to think clearly if I’m going to figure out what Natasha’s up to here.” 

Peter turns on him, jaw tight, “Oh we’re definitely finding out what she’s up to. We’re going to tear down her entire organization and then we’re gonna throw her in jail and _then_ we’re gonna donate all her money to-to at risk-youth centres! Yeah!” 

Tony’s lip curls up, “I appreciate the enthusiasm Peter.” 

But he looks tired. Put out. Like all the fire that kept him a person had fizzled out. All at once, the anger drains from Peter’s face and he just looks remorseful, “I’m sorry Mr. Stark, this is just…the worst.”

Tony stands, stretching out, testing the pain level, “Don’t be. It’s fine. It’s better than fine. I wanted answers about Natasha’s death and now I have them.” his eyes darken, “She made a mistake showing her true self to me. I see everything now. And I haven’t been seeing clearly in a long, long time.” 

Peter purses his lips. Nods. “Okay, so Natasha is The Spider, she’s gonna do something definitely evil, you have a hole in your arm, and we have a dead assassin upstairs, did I recap that right?”

 

Stephen finally leaves when Tony promises to keep him appraised of the situation and that he definitely will go see a doctor as soon as they could to get real pain killers. Once that distraction’s over, he and Peter finally start working, which means they end up in the morgue. 

Fury’s staring at them like he isn’t quite sure he’s paid enough to deal with them. 

Isaac Proctor’s body is on the examination table with a sheet pulled up over his head. “Let me get this straight,” Fury starts, “Proctor shot _you_ and then your ex-girlfriend shot _him_.” 

“Except Natasha isn’t Natasha.” Peter pipes in.

“…Right.” Fury agrees, “She’s the…evil mastermind.”

“Exactly.” Tony nods. 

Fury sighs, his brows raised in faint disbelief, “Alright, I guess I’ll put a BOLO out on…well Romanoff isn’t her name, but I guess it’ll do.” 

“You can try Natalia Romanova.” Peter says.

Tony shakes his head, “That’s all fine and dandy, but we’re dealing with someone who invented what Type A means. She’s meticulous and prudishly self-disciplined.” he scowls, “If you find her, technically, the only crime she committed was shooting a guy who was shooting at me.” 

Fury just wrinkles his nose. “Okay, so where do we start looking?” 

“I don’t know. But figuring out what she’s been doing in New York the past few weeks would be a good start.” 

Peter chews his lip, arms crossed as he taps his arm with his finger, “Well, we know some things for sure. Her plan involves the take-over of the Taggart Speakeasy and the arrest of the CEO of Sutter Risk Management for murder. But neither of those things seem to connect.” 

Tony’s brows are furrowed as he walks over to the tray holding the items of everyone in the morgue. He already knows that Proctor’s bag will be empty since Natasha swiped his wallet and phone before she left, but a bag on the bottom of the cart catches his eye, “Hey, Bruce, whose stuff are these?” 

Bruce fumbles with his glasses, peering at the bag for a few seconds, “Uhh, they’re from a couple of homicide victims that came in last night. One of them’s got Cyrillic tattoos. So we think it’s gang related. Why?” 

Tony slaps on a pair of medical gloves, pulling out the phones to examine them more closely, “It’s the phones. They’ve been modified so someone could install an open-source operating system instead of the original one.” he looks at Peter, “We’ve seen this kind of mod twice already.”

Peter’s eyes widen, “Clint Barton and Daniel Cooper.” 

Tony nods, “Every time we met one of The Spider’s people, someone’s done the same kind of jailbreak on their phone.” he turns to Bruce and Fury, “I don’t think those deaths are gang-related, I think this man was in open warfare with The Spider. He’s the killer.” 

Fury scoffs, “Come on, you just have two phones. That’s not proof they were working with him.” 

“Yeah it is, look.” Tony unlocks the phone, passing it over to show a text from a question mark.

Fury scowls, “Dammit. That’s the same code from Barton’s phone.” 

“Yup.” Tony says, popping the ‘p,’ “But I figured out how to decode it, so just gimme a sec.” 

He looks at it for a minute before he types out the decoded phrase onto his own phone, “BN23 Macedonian Sun.” 

“What’s that?” Peter asks.

Tony’s expression tightens, “I have no idea.” 

 

Tony locks himself into the interrogation room when they get back to the precinct, “I need absolute quiet and no distractions and I swear to God Fury your copier is gonna give me an aneurysm.” 

He scribbles furiously on dozens of papers, chucking each failed idea into the corner. He’s getting increasingly irate and ever successive failure leaves him more and more desperate. Code cracking was never Peter’s forte and he knows the only way he could help is to just try and be there for Tony if he ever needed it. So, Peter goes to get him a coffee when he overhears a conversation between Fury and Steve and stops in his tracks. “He’s just found out he’s been manipulated for years, he has to be feeling gutted at this point. _And_ he won’t get himself checked out for his gunshot wound? I know he’s invested in the case Rogers, but the NYPD doesn’t do vendettas.”

“He’s not NYPD. He’s a consultant.” 

Fury lets out a strained breath, “You and I both know that’s just a semantic distinction now. He’s going to get too deep, I’m worried about him. Benching him might-”

“Don’t!” Peter bursts out, before clapping his free hand over his mouth.

Fury turns around, looking at him with disapproving eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop it’s just- please don’t bench us. Mr. Stark will just investigate anyway and at least this way we can help you.” 

“Plus…” Peter hesitates, before he remembers Stephen’s numerous demands that Tony keep in touch, “I think it’d be better if he had something to do…he had a lot of close calls these past few months with…you know. And what she did…” there’s a deep anger in Peter’s eyes, a true bitterness, “it might be the thing that pushes him over the edge Captain. So please.” 

Fury looks hard at him, mouth open to say something before Tony bursts through the door, “I figured it out! Cryptography has _nothing_ on me.” 

They cluster in the room as Tony points to his laptop screen, “The Macedonian Sun is a container ship that operates out of Bay Twenty-Three North at the Port of New York and New Jersey. It’s part of a fleet of Hellenic Exporters and it’s owned by Christos Theophilus.”

Fury frowns, “I’ve heard that name before.”

Tony grins, “You probably heard his other name, the Narwhal. Because in the late eighties, Interpol believed he was one of Europe’s most prolific maritime smugglers. But they couldn’t actually prove it, which is marginally important when trying to arrest someone. But the name really should’ve been proof enough- anyone with a name like that has to be a smuggler.” 

Fury gives him a look. 

“Alright, alright, touchy. Anyway, the Narwhal quit the smuggling business and remade himself as the legitimate head of an international shipping conglomerate and a noted contributor to Greek nationalist charities.” 

“Okay,” Fury nods, “So you’re wondering if he actually turned a new leaf or if he’s working for The Spider.” 

Tony shrugs, “Guy has hundreds of boats out in open waters at any point. I’d want him on my international crime team. He could move weapons, people, stolen goods. Anyway, the Macedonian Sun is supposed to dock _tonight_.”

“Then let’s get ‘em.” Peter says, mouth tight. 

 

Peter’s told to stick to Fury and the backup team while Steve and Tony sit in an unmarked police car for their stake-out. It’s a quiet night, the port empty at this time of night. “How you holding up Tony?” Steve asks, shifting in his seat to get a better look at his friend.

Tony shrugs, not looking particularly emotional in any which way, “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve gapes, “Maybe because you’ve been betrayed in probably one of the most obscene scenarios I can think of?” 

“Oh yeah. That. Well.” Tony sighs, “I’ll be fine. Right now, we don’t have time to worry about my _feelings_. There’s the case and that’s it. We have to stop her. Nothing else matters.”

“We will.” Steve says assuredly, “But…” he looks like he wants to say something more when he stops, “He’s here.”

Tony looks up, energy coursing through him, “The Narwhal.”

The man walks out of an expensive silver car, walking towards the driver’s side of a black van. “Whatever he brought for Na-Romanova, he’s here to pick it up.” 

Steve notices his quick turn of phrase, but doesn’t comment. He can’t imagine how hard it is to think that the person you thought you knew best in the world was just a liar of the most talented kind. Steve starts the car, turning on the sirens and driving right up to them, the signal for the rest of the squad to pull up around them.

Steve steps out, gun up, “Freeze! Nobody move!” 

The men all put their hands up, teetering between afraid and shocked. Christos turns to Steve, arms still up, “This is my boat, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that you just unloaded a smuggled crate from it.” 

He can see the resignation in Christos’ eyes. 

Fury and Peter walk up to meet them, the four of them crowding around the giant metal crate in the trunk of the van. “Open it up.” Steve orders and Christos hands him the key, eyes bowed.

When Steve opens it, his mouth drops. He turns to Tony, still in disbelief. 

“You said The Spider might be smuggling people or weapons but…I don’t think this meets either criteria.” 

Steve pulls open the box, gesturing to its contents. Inside the metal crate are two cages, both carrying little wide-eyed lemurs. 

For the first time in a long time, Tony _really_ doesn’t know what to say but Peter sums it up quite nicely. 

“Wait, _what?_ ” 

 

In the interrogation room, Christos is frustratingly unhelpful and yet seems just as frustrated himself, “I’ve never heard of The Spider or Natalia Romanova in my life.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow, “Do yourself a favor and stop lying to us.”

“Come on Narwhal, give us what we need to know and we can just throw you in jail and move on with our lives.” Tony drawls.

Next to Christos, his lawyer takes a deep breath, “Mr. Stark- for the third time- my client has made it very clear that he doesn’t like being referred to as the Narwhal.”

“Why not? They’re great. Unicorn of the sea and all that jazz.” 

“It _bothers_ me,” Christos intones, “because it reminds me of who I was, and not who I _am_.” 

Tony raises a brow, “What? Not smuggling anymore? Interesting thing to say considering we just caught you smuggling two lemurs in.”

Christos sighs, rubbing at his forehead, “The lemurs…they’re for my daughter, Alethea. She loves animals- too much maybe, but her husband loves them too. Lately, they’ve been big on conservation and eco-activism and me,” he shrugs, a small smile on his face, “I’m just a dad who’d do anything for his little girl.” 

Steve’s brows furrow, “You’re telling me those lemurs were for your daughter?”

“Those animals- they’d been poached. They were being auctioned off to men who’d strip them of parts like an old car and sell them off. My daughter and her husband, they live on a horse ranch in Westchester.” his eyes are sincere when he looks at them, “They will protect them. Take good care of them.”

Peter honestly doesn’t know what to make of any of it, “So…you’re running an underground railroad for endangered species?”

Christos’ lip flicks up, “That’s one way of putting it.”

Steve sighs, looking resigned, “Can your daughter confirm this?”

Christos takes a breath, “She’s on a trip to Kenya. But her husband is still here. He’ll show you.” 

Steve, Peter, and Tony look at each other before nodding. “I’ll call ahead to the local department there to let them know we’re coming.” Steve says, standing up to go. 

Peter falls into step with them, mind spinning with theories when his phone rings. He sees MJ’s name and only answers to tell her he’ll call her back, but her voice stops him cold, “Peter, Ned’s in the hospital. We have to go see him.” 

Peter freezes in his tracks, face gaunt. “What?”

MJ’s always been stoic, always perfectly in control. But Peter can hear the lilt in her voice, the undertone of fear. “I don’t know. His dad called me from his phone because he thought seeing us would make him feel better. He’s at Memorial Hospital.”

“Oh God. Okay- I-” Peter’s panicked eyes flash up to Tony’s own, who’s looking at him, concerned.

“Go Peter. It’s okay. We’ll meet up after.”

“I-“ Peter wants to ask if he’s sure but this is _Ned_. It’s his best friend. His only friend for a long, long time. He could never leave him. Not Ned, “I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Text me when you get there. I’m sure he’s going to be okay.” 

Peter can’t really feel his legs, he feels out of his body. But he’s so terribly afraid. Because what if…what if Natasha did this? To get back at him? For taking Tony away? And what if he left and something bad happened to Tony again? What if Natasha got him? 

Overcome with the uncertainty of everything, Peter lunges into Tony, hugging him tight. Before Tony can react, Peter pulls away, sprinting out the door. 

 

Peter splurges on a cab to the hospital, nails digging into his palms the entire time. He keeps in constant contact with MJ, but she’s still farther away than he is. 

Ned isn’t answering at all.

The cab drops him off at the corner and he all but runs to the hospital when a black SUV pulls up beside him. The passenger door opens. Natasha smiles when she sees him, “Hey Peter.”

Peter takes a step back, muscles tensing, “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, leaning against the door. She looks beautiful, even more beautiful than before now that she’s done her hair and slipped into a black jumpsuit with a little hour-glass belt. “I wanted to talk to you. Away from Tony.” she smiles apologetically, “Your friend’s fine by the way. I had someone I know…borrow his dad’s phone and call your little girlfriend.”

Peter’s eyes widen, an unexpected anger shooting through him.

“It was a bit crude as far as inviting you unawares goes, but I didn’t have a lot of time.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Peter asserts, eyes hard.

Natasha smiles again, like she knows all the world’s secrets. “I think you will actually.”

Peter feels a presence behind him. A man twice his size glowers at him and Peter can feel something hard and metallic press the small of his back. Peter looks between him and Natasha and the backseat door she opens. “Guests first.” she says graciously.  
God he was gonna get in so much trouble. 

 

Peter’s silent throughout the entire ride. He debates texting Tony but knows he can’t without being seen and also knows that there wasn’t much the man would be able to do from all the way in Westchester. 

So he waits. 

Bides his time. 

Natasha takes them an upscale restaurant filled with well-dressed patrons and servers in tuxes. Natasha orders a glass of wine for herself, looking at Peter while she takes a sip, “You’re not afraid of me.” she states, curious and intrigued. 

“Did the glare give it away?” Peter snarks.

“Just surprised that’s all.”

Peter grits his jaw, “I’m too mad to be afraid. And it’s not like you’re going to kill me here. Way too many people.”

Natasha lets out an amused breath, “Before I ran a worldwide organization, I was an assassin. I’ve killed seven different people in seven different ways in restaurants exactly like these.” she sets the glass down, “Trust me Peter. If I wanted you dead, you would be.” she cocks her head,   
“But I don’t.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “Yup, got it. You could kill me with a toothpick, good for you. Wanna tell me why I’m here?”

Natasha raises a brow at his rudeness, “Because Tony took an interest in you. I want to know why.”

“Right.” Peter snipes, “Because you find him so fascinating right? What did you call him? A work of art? That’s super cliché.” 

“Better to be a cliché than a mascot don’t you think?” 

Peter makes a face, “Mascot?”

“Come on. Tony let you help find your aunt’s killer and then he kept you on as a…what? Assistant that makes him look better to the world? A polite, cute kid like you, who wouldn’t love that? It’s great PR.”

Peter looks bewildered, “I thought you said you were just like him. That you saw the world the way he did, but better. You obviously don’t see as much as you think you do.” 

Natasha’s brows tighten at his tone, “Kids are harder to read. They barely know why they do what they do half the time. But it doesn’t matter.” her eyes harden, “I asked Tony to let me finish up in New York without interfering. Except last night, you helped him spy on a certain ship and then this morning, he questioned a certain businessman.” 

Peter’s fist tightens, “How could you know any of that?” 

Natasha takes another sip of her wine, “Keep up Peter. Don’t you understand by now how insidious my organization really is? I have eyes and ears in the most interesting places.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything.

“Talk to Tony. Tell him I’m only here for a few more days and then he can have his city back.” 

Something dawns in Peter’s eyes, a small smile playing at his lips, “You’re afraid of him.”

Natasha frowns.

“Come on Miss. Romanova, if you weren’t, why would you go through all this trouble?”

Natasha’s eyes are dark as she stands, looming over him, “I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of what he’ll force me to do.” 

Peter watches her leave, feeling like for the first time, he knows something neither Tony nor Natasha know. Something to end it all. 

 

Michael White is confused when he sees the NYPD at his door, but gestures for them to come in. When he hears what they have to say, he’s shocked. 

“Look, I don’t know why my father-in-law told you guys, but,” he shrugs, “if you know, you know I guess.”

Michael gesture out the window, where a zebra grazes lazily, “This is a working horse ranch.” 

Steve raises a brow.

“It’s also home to twenty-two different endangered species.”

“Look we’re not here about your illegal humanitarian project,” Tony interjects, staring in fascination as an exotically coloured bird flaps its wings, “To tell you the truth, I’m trying to figure out how to convince you to let you bring my kid over to check it out. He’d love this place. But,” Tony looks chagrined, “business first.” 

He turns to Michael, hands clasped, “Alethea, your wife. It’s not weird she went on a Kenyan safari alone?” 

Michael looks away, “No. She’s a free spirit. I’ve always known that.” 

Tony gives him a look before swiveling around again, heading straight to the kitchen, “Wait what are you-”

He walks in on Tony opening and shutting every cabinet and drawer. Tony keeps rummaging as he talks, “I don’t wanna guess about your marriage or anything, but when I peeked into your closet on the way in, it was full of some expensive outerwear. Some classy his and hers stuff.” 

Tony opens a cabinet rife with medicine and various home items. “It’s weird right? That she’d go to Kenya without her gear?” he squints, peering into the shelf before pulling out a bottle and dumping the contents on the counter.

“Uhhh, yeah, she uh, she bought new stuff.” Michael tries to say before he sees what Tony’s doing, “Hey!” 

“Oh don’t mind me. I’m just confirming what I already know. This,” Tony says, raising the bottle, “is a prescription for Levothyroxine. It’s a synthetic hormone to treat thyroiditis. Based on the bottle, it was filled a month ago, but there are only eighteen pills missing.” he looks up, face comically blank, “I checked. So it looks like she stopped taking her meds for a whole week.” he clicks his tongue, “Doesn’t seem like a good idea.” 

Tony catches Steve’s eye and Steve steps up behind Michael, “Mr. White, where’s your wife?” 

Michael twists the hem of his shirt, a deep grief swelling in his eyes, “It’s- it’s like you said. A week ago, in the middle of the night, two guys in masks broke into the house. And they-” his voice chokes and he grips the counter for support, “they took her. Althea.” 

He looks at them, eyes pleading, “So I called her dad, and he cut me loose and told me the kidnappers already got in touch with him. He’s supposed to handle everything. They said no cops or they’d- they’d kill her.”

Steve looks grave, “What can you tell us about the two men?”

Michael shakes his head, “Not much. They were all covered up and didn’t talk much. But one of their sleeves rode up, he had tattoos of uhh, what’s that alphabet called? Cyrillic.” 

Something dawns in Tony’s eyes, “Steve. The guys from the morgue.” 

Steve swears. “I’m gonna go call the captain.” 

He leaves the kitchen, gathering the other officer who came with. Michael trails sadly behind him. Tony, alone in the kitchen, looks back into cabinet. 

The bottle of scotch taunts him. Natasha’s laugh does too. 

He picks it up. 

His breath goes ragged. 

For a moment, the entire world fades away before Tony slams it back onto the shelf, hitting the door shut just as his phone rings. 

“Peter.” He still can’t get his breathing under control- he has to stop. He has to- “ _WHAT?_ ” 

 

Tony is furious when he meets back up with Peter at the precinct. “What were you thinking?? Do you have any idea what could have happened to you??” 

Peter crosses his arms in his seat, “She had a _henchman_ , like a _literal_ goon. With a gun!!” he insists. 

Tony rubs at his forehead so hard it hurts, “I can’t believe you did that.”

“I had no choice! And I’m fine, aren’t I?”

“But you might not have been!” Tony snaps before he sees Peter flinch and looks to the floor, angry more at himself than anything. 

Fury holds up a hand, “You’re _both_ getting a security detail until this all blows over okay? And I’m putting a couple of guys at your place too.” 

“Now, Christos made bail while you were still en route to Westchester, but he’s not at his apartment,” Fury says, “His lawyer and his bail bondsman have no idea where he is.” 

Tony’s already stormy face grows darker, “If the Narwhal’s gone. That’s not good.” 

Fury nods, “He could’ve told us about his daughter when he was here.”

“We got it wrong.” Tony says, “He wasn’t Romanova’s accomplice, he’s her victim.” 

“But it doesn’t fit.” Peter interjects, shaking his head, “All this just to kidnap some rich guy’s daughter? There has to be more.” 

Tony’s jaw is tight, “I know her. Natasha has flair, she does things that ignite her passions. There _is_ something more.” he winces, rubbing his arm, “I have to go.” he says abruptly, leaving without another word. 

Peter flashes an apologetic look at Fury before dashing after Tony. “Mr. Stark, wait! Are you okay?” 

Tony moves his jaw, rubbing his arm again, “Yeah. I’m fine. Just hurts a bit. Nothing major.”

Peter wants to press him more when Steve walks over, “Hey, so I asked the CCS guys to look for evidence of communication between Christos and the kidnappers. They found a new email account he’d made and they sent me a screenshot of the inbox.” 

He turns his phone over to them. Every single email came from a contact with just a question mark for a name. The subject titles all either referenced Alethea or an agreement to ‘keep her safe.’ 

“It has to be the Spider’s contact. Like from Cooper’s phone.” Peter says.

Steve nods, “Yeah, we thought so. The emails are encrypted with a public key code, can’t be broken, but Christos _did_ download something at the exact same time one of them came in. It was on his hard drive. That we did get.” 

He turns the phone again to show a photo of a man. He’s well groomed, in an expensive suit, beard professionally styled, the background a lavish party. “You know who it is?”

Tony shakes his head, the premonition of something awful growing in his stomach. 

 

Somewhere in the city, Christos Theopolis sits on a park bench staring at a photo of a well-groomed man in an expensive suit. His shoulders are tight, a heavy weight lurking behind his eyes. 

“Mr. Theopolis,” Natasha greets, looking picturesque in the afternoon sun, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

Christos looks up at her, defeated, “You’re the one who took my daughter.” 

Natasha quirks a shoulder modestly, “Oh, I had some help.”

She sits down next to him, sliding an unmarked shopping bag towards him. Christos draws it open with one finger, when he sees the gun, he lets go quickly, swallowing hard. “In all my years of smuggling, I have never once handled one of these.”

“It’s simple.” Natasha says loftily, “Just point and shoot. Repeatedly sometimes.” 

Christos’ hand shakes when he looks back down at the photo of the man. Natasha’s eyes flick to his expression, “It’s important in times like these to remember Alethea.” 

Christos looks pained. 

He swallows hard, “I have your word that you’ll let her go when I do what you ask?”

Natasha tilts her head, “Of course.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes closed. When he looks up into the heavens, his eyes water like asking for redemption. “Then it’s done. Tomorrow, this man and his family will be dead.”

 

Peter’s awoken the next morning by Tony shouting his name. He races downstairs, still in his pajamas and not even fully out of his dream to see that wild look in Tony’s eye, “Get dressed, we gotta go.”

“What?” 

“I figured it out, Natasha’s plan.” 

He’d given up, Peter notices, on trying to call her anything but the name he knew her by. 

“Our loyal guards are waiting outside to take us to our future victim. I already called the Captain, they should be securing the place as we speak.”

“Mr. Stark, that’s great!! But how??”

Tony huffs, turning towards the chaotic crime collage board. “This man is Andrej Bacera, his mom’s the Speaker of Parliament of the Republic of Macedonia. What you need to know about her is that she’s popular reform activist.” 

“So’s the son,” Tony adds, “he’s a favourite over there.”

“But why does Romanova care about Macedonian politicians?” 

Tony raises a finger, “Andrej Bacera _isn’t_ a politician. Not yet. He’s actually a surgeon here in the city and is basically an unofficial diplomat when they need one. Now look here,” he points at a map, “That’s the Balkan Peninsula. _This_ is the Republic of Macedonia, a baby democracy and applicant for full membership in the EU.” 

Peter still looks confused as to how it fits.

“Their biggest obstacle to getting that membership is Greece being a huge baby over the name Macedonia.” 

“But…isn’t Macedonia… _in_ Greece?” Peter asks, feeling stupid.

“It’s a _region_ in Greece, has a lot of historical impact, blah blah, so obviously Greece got pissy when Yugoslavia broke up and this tiny country called themselves Macedonia.”

“It’s?? It’s not that big a deal??” Peter exclaims, looking even more confused.

“That’s because we’re not crazy. But the thing is, Greece said it would oppose their membership request because of it. _Until_ , Bacera’s mom brokered a compromise. In a few days, the Republic of Macedonia is gonna vote on whether to join the EU as the Republic of New Macedonia.” 

Peter makes a face as though to say ‘what the hell,’ “They just- they just added the word new.” 

“Yeah. But,” Tony shrugs, “politics. Never do it. Anyway, it worked, and the referendum is expected to pass.” 

“Ok, good for Macedonia I guess, but what’s this have to do with the Spider.”

“What’s it ever about?” Tony sighs, “Money.” 

Tony pulls out a bill, popping it between his fingers, “This is a Macedonia denar.” 

“Did you just have that lying around??”

Tony ignores him.

“If the Macedonian referendum passes, they’re gonna have to switch their money to the euro, so the denar basically becomes obsolete. But! Forty-eight hours ago, a Swiss bank, acting on behalf of some giant client, bought a shit ton of it.”

Peter bites his lip, “But why buy money that’s not gonna be money anymore?” 

Tony’s eyes shine, “They wouldn’t. Unless they were planning to manipulate events to prevent Macedonia from joining the EU.” 

Peter’s stomach drops.

“Imagine the chaos if a Greece nationalist who’s a giant advocate for the cause were to kill Macedonia’s favourite son on the day before the vote. Every single tension between them would erupt all over again and the vote would fail purely based on all the animosity. And the denar?” 

Peter’s eyes widen, “Oh my God the value would boom again.” 

“Bingo.” 

“So Romanova made the Narwhal kill Bacera for her by kidnapping his daughter, all so she could make money on a currency bet?”

Tony pauses, “I mean, to be fair, it’s a billion dollars.”

“A BILLION??” 

“A billion.” 

“Then what the hell are we still doing here? We need to _take her down!_ ” 

 

In a stunning house with high ceilings and luxurious finishings, Andrej Bacera runs down the stairs, “Jordan!” he yells, “Jordan!”

A woman stops chopping tomatoes, “Andrej?”

A man comes behind her, “Jordan,” Andrej says again, “the police department just called, he said there’s a man coming to kill me.”

Jordan takes the phone, walking out of the kitchen, “This is Jordan Conroy, I handle security for the Baceras.”

“Mr. Conroy, this is Captain Fury with the NYPD. Is it just you there or do you have a team?” 

“It’s just me. Why?”

“We have reason to believe a Greek national by the name of Christos Theophilus is targeting Mr. Bacera. We’re on our way to you right now but we want you to take any and all precautions.” 

Jordan pauses, “Can you give me a description?” 

“He’s a white male, six feet, about one-ninety. I texted a photo to Mr. Bacera.” 

Andrej’s phone vibrates and he passes it to Jordan, Christos’ face on the screen. “We’ve got a safe room here.” Jordan says, “I’ll get Mr. and Mrs. Bacera inside it right away.”

 

Outside the Bacera’s house, Christos hesitates at the front gate before pressing the buzzer. The gate slides open as Jordan steps out the house to greet him, “We need to do this quickly.” he hisses, shutting the door behind them. 

Jordan shows him the way to the saferoom and punches in the code before hiding in the corner. Christos looks at the man but he glares back. The door opens and Andrej’s entire face pales as he pushes his wife behind him, brave despite his trembling. 

“Step outside.” Christos says, voice choked and small.

“Wh-whatever you want, just take it.” Andrej says, lifting a hand to calm him.

“ _Now_.” Christos orders, pointing the gun at them. 

The couple walks out with trembling steps, faces afraid. When they come out of the saferoom, they see Jordan, eyes blank. “Jordan.” Andrej calls, voice cracking, “Jordan what’s going on?”

Jordan looks away. 

“Please, please Jordan.” Andrea cries, “Please help us.”

Jordan doesn’t say a word. 

Andrej moves backwards, still protecting his wife, watching as Christos dials something into his phone. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

Christos’ breath goes haggard, it’s louder, louder than the fear in the room, “My name is Christos Theophilus, I’m in the house of the snake, Andrej Bacera. What I do now, I do for the love of my country.” 

“Please,” Andrej begs, “please, not my-”

Tears spring in Christos’ eyes when he pulls the trigger. Four bullets later and a scream that will never be wiped clean from his soul, Andrej and Andrea Bacera are dead. 

Behind him, Jordan sends a text. 

Christos tries to stifle his tears when his phone rings. He can’t stop shaking. 

He thinks he will never stop shaking. 

“Poppa? Poppa it’s me. I’m okay.” 

The tears roll down Christos’ cheeks, eyes closed in thanks. “Poppa are you there? They just left me in front of the farm and drove away. I’m with Michael now. The police are on their way. Poppa!” she cries, voice growing more and more frantic, “Are you there??”

But he doesn’t deserve to speak to her. Not to his darling daughter. Not to someone with a clean soul. 

He hangs up the phone, staring resolutely ahead. “Do it now. Please.” 

Jordan takes out his gun, aims for the back of Christos’ head, and shoots. Outside, sirens wail. 

 

Jordan sits in the middle of the precinct bullpen looking worse for wear and aggrieved, “He struck me from behind right after I hung up with you. Next thing I knew, I was zip-tied to the bannister and he was taking Andrej and Andrea into the bedroom.” he looks away, broken, “I managed to get free, but...then I heard the first two shots. And I ran in with the gun in my ankle holster- he hadn’t spotted it when he checked me- and I shot him but…it was too late. He’d already killed them both.” 

Fury nods, looking empathetic when Tony strides in, Peter trailing behind him, “Captain! Don’t listen to anything this guy says he’s a _liar_.” 

“Tony.” Fury says with surprise, “I thought you’d still be at the scene.” 

Tony ignores him, whipping around to face Jordan, “So, how long have you been working with the Spider and how long has she been planning this?” 

Jordan’s face twists and Fury gets up, “Stark what are you on about?” 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m about to get right into it.” The anger in Tony’s eyes spills over until it consumes every part of him. 

He had figured it out. He had _figured it out_. Except Natasha was one step ahead. It wouldn’t have mattered whether he’d resolved it eight hours ago or just five minutes ago. It was always going to happen. Because she’d always planted a traitor. 

And it was his fault. 

“I looked into this asshole’s resume while I was the Bacera’s. He’s working for Lexicon Personal Security.” Tony sucks in a breath, teeth grit so tight he’s sure he’ll grind them away, “Wanna know what they were called until just a week ago? Sutter Risk Management.” 

Steve turns on Jordan, jaw tight. 

“We’re pretty sure it’s one of Romanova’s shell companies.” Peter adds, staring pointedly at Jordan.

“What? Am I supposed to know who that is?” 

“Yeah, you should. She _used_ me to prove that the Sutters had committed a murder, most likely to clear the decks for you.” Tony narrows his eyes, “You weren’t assigned to the Baceras until a few weeks ago right? You’re telling me that’s a coincidence?” 

And Tony wants to die he wants to die. Natasha had played him like a fucking fiddle. If he hadn’t be so obsessed with finding out the truth behind her death, if he had just taken a second to _think_ , he might have seen the wisdom in not investigating the Sutter case when the man on the phone told him to. If it weren’t for him…

Jordan doesn’t flinch, just stands, head cocked like he’s itching for a fight, “I would’ve given my life for the Baceras.” 

Tony takes a step and Peter can see Jordan stand taller, “No. You _invited_ their murderer into their home and then _killed him_ to cover it up.” 

Jordan launches, shoving Tony right in his wound. Tony grunts, hunching as Jordan takes the opening to punch him clean in the face. The precinct roars into action, Steve tackling Jordan to the ground, “Get away from him!” 

Tony roars, jumping to attack before Peter yells, grabbing at him to shove him away from where two officers are wrestling with Jordan to get him in handcuffs. Peter maneuvers Tony away from the bullpen, into the conference room where Tony kicks at the chair in frustration, yelling. Peter’s panting, looking between Tony and the bullpen before his eyes widen. “Mr. Stark- you’re bleeding.” 

Tony stops, glances down at his arm. Blood soaks through his shirt and he grimaces, clapping a hand over it, “It’s fine.”

“No it isn’t, your stitches ripped.” 

Tony’s voice is sharp, “I said it’s fine-”

“It isn’t! It isn’t fine! And-”

“I had her!” Tony yells, the simmering anger pouring over anything he can control, “I figured out what she was doing. I figured out to how to stop her. And she _still won anyway_.” 

When Tony’s eyes meet his own, they’re pained. 

Pained to a level Peter can never comprehend. He’s known grief, he’s known pain, he’s known suffering. But he’s never known guilt. Not like this, not so powerful it cripples the bravest man he knows. 

“Three people died today because of me.” 

Peter shakes his head, “No. You didn’t do this. _She_ did! And she knows what it would do to you if she won.” Peter looks away, something awful brimming at his lips, “Maybe the Captain was right.” 

Tony stops, eyes betrayed, “What?”

“Before we even started this, he wanted to pull you off. I told him he shouldn’t, that it was too important to you but maybe-”

“Don’t.” Tony’s voice is low, his breathing gets hard, “Don’t even say it.”

“Mr. Stark please-”

“You know I almost stole a bottle of scotch from a crime scene yesterday?”

Peter’s eyes widen.

“You know why I didn’t?” Tony asks, eyes a storm, “Because of _you_. Because I didn’t want you taken from me. Because I didn’t want to disappoint you. Because I-” Tony shakes his head. 

And in that moment, Peter knows exactly what they have to do. Because Tony loves Natasha, even though he can’t admit it anymore. Because he loves Peter, even though it scares him. And more importantly, because he’s trying to love himself. 

“Mr. Stark, I know that- that you’re mad at me and- and at everything, but I know what we need to do. Natasha said she was smarter than you, that you needed to let her win.” Peter says, voice raw, “It’s the only way this doesn’t eat you alive.” he begs. 

Peter takes a step towards him, lip a breath away from trembling, “She was right Mr. Stark. Let her win.” 

 

Steve and a detective Boseman are assigned protective detail duty at Tony and Peter’s brownstone and end up there long before anyone comes in. “Yeah, I’ll let you know when he gets home.” Steve says into his phone before he hears a lock turning, “Actually, give me a minute.”

He hangs up, turning around to see Tony walk in, expression dark. “Aren’t you supposed to be _outside?_ ” Tony asks sharply.

“I just got off the phone with your protective detail, they said you ditched them outside the precinct.” Steve says, ignoring his question.

Tony gives him a look, walking past him to go up the stairs, “Hey Tony!”

“Can’t a guy shower anymore?” Tony shoots back, still not looking at him. 

Tony hesitates before turning on the bathroom light, reaching into the tub to let the water run before collapsing on the toilet lid, face in his hands. 

Downstairs, Steve looks up the stairs, concerned, before his phone rings, “Hey Captain.”

“Steve, Tony stormed out of the station a while back, is he there?”

Steve sighs, “Yeah, he’s back.” 

“Is Peter with him?” 

Steve pauses, “No, why? What’s going on?” 

Fury’s voice tells him all he needs to know, “A corner drug dealer walking out of liquor store was beaten and robbed about a half hour ago.”

Steve’s stomach drops, “Captain-”

“Witnesses say the perp had distinctive facial hair and had his arm in a sling.” 

“Oh God.” 

Steve hangs up, running up the stairs, banging on the bathroom door. He can hear the water, but not much else except his own fist, “Tony! Tony let me in!”

No answer.

Steve hits the door harder, “Come on! Tony!” 

Breathing fast, Steve does the only thing he can think to do, he braces himself, throwing his shoulder against the door until it blows open. 

Steve’s heart stutters in his chest. “Oh my God. Tony!” 

Steve falls to the floor, grasping at Tony’s limp form where he’s sprawled on the floor, eyes fluttering. There’s a half empty bottle of whiskey next to him and a needle still clutched in his hand. “No. Tony, come on! Tony! Can you hear me!” 

“Boseman! Call an ambulance! Stark OD’d.” 

Steve tries to hear his heart-beat. When he can’t, all he has left is to pray. 

 

It’s dark in Tony’s hospital room. There’s an oxygen tube around his ears and monitors beeping on a rhythm, but Tony’s eyes are closed. 

The door opens, then closes just as quietly.

“I know you’re awake.” Natasha says, watching him from the back of the room. 

Tony doesn’t move.

“I know you’re mad, but you can’t tell me I’ve made the great Tony Stark _shy_.” 

Tony blinks his eyes open, looking vaguely disoriented, tired beyond reason. “Who’s going to the tell the NYPD that their protective detail is shit?” 

Natasha’s smile is small, “Don’t be mean. They never had a chance.” 

Tony looks away. 

Natasha’s eyes sadden, she walks slowly towards him, sitting on the edge of his bed, hand at his leg, “I warned you.” she whispered. “I practically _begged_ you.” 

She forces him to catch her gaze and in her eyes is a pleading question, “Why didn’t you just listen Tony. For once in your life why didn’t you just do it someone else’s way?” 

When Tony answers, his voice is weak, he sounds almost at the edge of death, “You asked me to let you win Nat.” he tries to laugh, gesturing around them, “Pretty sure I did.” 

Natasha doesn’t look happy though. 

She just looks sorrowful.

“You forced Christos to kill two innocent people this morning and for what? Money?” 

“I did.” Natasha agrees, but it’s almost hard for her to speak, “But I didn’t want…this. Not again. Not you.” 

Tony rolls his head to look at her, tired of being hurt, “Why are you _here?_ ” 

Natasha reaches for his hand, “I want to help you.”

Tony snorts, “I’m sorry what? You made up a fake identity, seduced me, faked your own death, then sent your lackey to find me in New York and make me question my entire moral standpoint and _then_ you came back just to fuck with me. So sorry not sorry, I don’t want it.” 

Natasha pulls her hand away, voice cold, “Would you rather I just killed you?” 

It hurts them both how quickly he replies.

“Yes.” 

Natasha’s eyes flash in pain. She looks away, “I knew that when I died, you’d take it hard. You’re always so emotional, even when you pretend not to be.” there’s the faintest of bit of fondness, “I thought it’d give me more time to finish my projects, but I didn’t see your spiral into addiction coming.” 

Natasha looks at him, voice low, “You surprised me.”

Tony doesn’t look all that flattered. 

“You’re the only person who can.”

“That’s why you love me right?” Tony asks and Natasha flinches back, eyes wide.

“That’s what you came here. To tell me that.”

Natasha leans forward, eyes intense, “You know why you’re an alcoholic Tony? Because you’re in pain. _Constantly_. Your sensitivities, they make you a great detective- the best. But they hurt you.” she grabs his hand again, squeezing, “ _I know what that’s like Tony_. Only me.” she whispers. 

“It’s always you and me. There’s no one else that comes close to our level.” 

Tony doesn’t say anything. 

“I’m leaving the country tonight. For good.” she brings his hand closer, “I want you to come with me.” 

Natasha strokes the side of his face as Tony stares back, motionless, “You’re broken. But it’s okay. I was broken too once. And I can put you back together again. And once you’re whole, I’ll show you a different way to live. A better one. Together.” 

Slowly, Tony takes Natasha’s hand from his face, holding it. “You know, we’re the same.” he says quietly, “We both made the same stupid mistake.” he laughs, dry, “We fell in love.”

Natasha looks confused, hand limp in his own.

“It made us stupid.”

Natasha snorts, “I made a billion dollars today. I don’t _feel_ stupid.” 

Tony smiles, “He figured you out you know. The ‘mascot.’” 

Natasha’s brows furrow and in her anticipation, Tony sees Peter’s eyes, fervent and determined as he begs Tony to let Natasha win. Let her win the battle so she would lose the war. 

“Peter.” Tony says, as though it needs any clarification, “He realized the real reason why you couldn’t bring yourself to kill me. The real reason you came back to my life. The reason you’re _here_.” 

Tony sits up straight, looking her in the eye, “It’s not about a game, it’s not about trying to get ahead, or finishing your ‘grand experiment.’ I fell in love with you back in London, and what’s worse, for you anyway, is that you fell in love right back. So the kid told me to let you win,” he shrugs, “or at least make it look like I did. Because he knew you’d come back.”

Natasha pulls back, getting off the bed, “You faked the overdose.” 

Tony grins, tight-lipped, pulling off the oxygen tube, “Still sober.” he says cheerily, flashing a peace sign.

“Don’t be mad.” he mimics, “You’re the one who said you have eyes and ears everywhere, so we thought we’d just take the extra precaution.” Tony’s eyes catch her own, something like vindication, something like pride swirling within them, “You said there was only one person in the world who could surprise you,” he nods at the hospital window, “turns out there’s two.”

When Natasha turns around, she finds Peter staring back, eyes defiant. 

 

Tony watches Fury handcuff the love of his life and settle her in the back of a squad car after Tony hands him the recording device he’d stashed in his shirt. Finally appeasing Stephen and Peter, Tony allows a doctor to check his wound- he was in a hospital _anyway_ might as well- getting it re-stitched and bandaged. 

Peter waits for him outside, sitting idly in chair. When he hears Tony walk out, he gets up, looking like he wants to run into his arms but stopping himself. Tony softens, walking towards him instead, “I ever tell you you’re a genius?” he asks, wrapping his arms around him.

He can feel Peter smile into his shoulder, “Sometimes. Not enough though.” he teases.

“Don’t want you getting a big head now.”

“Like yours?” Peter pulls away, lip curled up in a half a laugh.

“Hey, watch it, or I’ll buy that spicy curry you hate and make you eat it.” 

“Not to be dramatic, but we literally just put away your arch-nemesis just now. I think we deserve burgers. The good ones. Where the meat isn’t still cold in the middle.” 

Tony snorts, leading them out of the hospital, “I could go for burgers. We can grab gelato too.” 

“I thought you swore of dairy.”

“Have you ever met a single lactose-intolerant person who actually doesn’t eat dairy?” 

Peter pauses, “Point taken.” 

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter asks, a few minutes later, “are you okay?”

Tony looks up into the sky, then back at him, “I finally have all the answers I need. And now I get to go home knowing we put away one of the most dangerous criminals on the planet. I think we’re doing more than okay.” 

 

When they arrive home, carrying way more snacks and food than they really needed to buy, a manila package is sticking out from their mailbox. Tony stares at it for a second before there’s a hint of recognition. He tucks it beneath his arm and Peter wants to ask, but he also just wants to hang out with his mentor and not have a million questions booming in his mind, so holds his tongue. 

The two of them chatter mindlessly as they eat and slowly, the tension of the past few days fades as they remind each other of the present, of what’s important. About what makes life worth the struggle, even when it beats you to your knees. 

While Peter’s busy clearing the table, he catches sight of Tony staring at the envelope, opening it slowly. When he reads the contents, his eyes rise to meet Peter’s own and he beckons him over. “Peter…there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Peter slides into the empty seat across from him, curious, “What’s up Mr. Stark?” 

“You know that I got temporary guardianship of you right?”

Peter nods, not understanding where this is going.

“After everything that happened, I got to thinking, I want something more permanent.” Peter’s eyes widen, “I reached out to my lawyer, they did a bunch of mumbo jumbo stuff, but they got me what I needed.” 

Tony slides the contents of the envelope over and Peter’s head snaps up, “Are you serious?” 

He can see the vulnerability in Tony’s eyes, the hesitation of putting it all on the line. “Yeah. I’m serious. But only if you want to.”

“I don’t want you to change your name, you’re a Parker, and I want you to always feel connected to that. But if I’m going to do right by your aunt, then I thought I should do it the proper way. This way, someone’s gonna have to go through the whole entire law to take you away.”

Peter looks at him, voice small, “Are you sure?” 

Tony laughs, shaking his head with so much softness Peter’s heart clenches, “I’ve second-guessed every single thing I’ve ever done in my life Peter. But the one thing I’ve never second guessed was you.” 

“That was so sappy.” Peter mumbles, trying to hide how touched he actually is.

Tony snorts, leaning forward to ruffle his hair, “Don’t get used to it.” 

Peter smiles, watery and soft. He brings over a pen. Tony signs the papers, sealing them in an envelope and handing it to Peter to do the honors. He plasters stamps all along the front, feeling oddly light-footed as he walks out the house to drop it in the mailbox. He stands on the front steps, but instead of going to the road, he walks into the backyard, crouching down to where May’s tulips are. The ones he and Tony had planted together. 

“Hey May.” he whispers, rubbing a petal between his fingers.

He waves the envelope slightly, a small smile on his face, “Mr. Stark got the adoption papers. They’re all signed and ready to go, I’m supposed to be mailing them right now.” 

He sighs, sitting down cross legged, feeling the grass tickle his ankles, “I really miss you. So much. And you know, it doesn’t get easier, but it’s like you said when Ben died, it gets quieter. And Mr. Stark’s great. He always knows when I’m missing you more than usual and he tries to cheer me up. It’s not always…normal,” he laughs to himself, “but he tries.”

“I hope you’re proud of me.” he says suddenly, “And that you’re not mad that I…well, that I want this.” his fingers grip the envelope tighter, “I want a family again. And I know you’re probably always worried about me, but I’ll be okay, I promise. Because Mr. Stark keeps an eye on me. He’s _way_ too overprotective, but it’s nice. It’s nice.” 

“I wish you could’ve met him. I think you would’ve liked him after the first couple meetings.” he laughs, settling his chin between his knees, “And I wish every day that you hadn’t died. And I wish every day you were still with me. But we can’t change the past, only the present. And I’m- I’m really glad he found me, after you left.”

Peter pulls a petal, pressing it against his cheek, “Mr. Stark always tells me that I saved him, but I think, in the end, we really saved each other.” 

Peter stands, taking in a breath, “Love you May. So much.” 

When Peter walks to the mailbox, he doesn’t hesitate before slipping the envelope in. He turns around, sees the light in their living room flick on and smiles. When May died, it felt like his whole world had burned into the ground. But from ashes sprouts something new. And he’s found a place in the world again. It’s chaotic and messy and demanding, but it’s his and it’s Tony’s and when he opens the door, he knows there’s nowhere else he’d rather be and no one else he’d rather be with. 

He’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BE ADVISED
> 
> IF YOU WANT A FEEL GOOD ENDING THEN YOU MIGHT WANNA END HERE- THE EPILOGUE IS...EXTRA
> 
> That said, thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos and read this fic. It's been so much fun to combine the two things I love, detective fiction and irondad together to make this story and I'm so proud that I actually finished it. 
> 
> Love you guys 3000 and please tell me what you think!! <3


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this was a double feature, please read chap 14 first 😅

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Mr. Stark! We still haven’t bought a Christmas tree. It’s already December first and THERE’S STILL NO TREE!” 

Tony groans from where he’s beneath one of their junk trucks in the garage, messing around with the foundation to see if it was possible to weaken it to facilitate a robbery. “Peter, I told you, the second I’m done with this, we’ll go and get as many Christmas trees as you want.”

Peter crosses his arms, “You said that last week.”

Tony rolls out, incredulous, “That was before the _murder_ happened. Remember? The closed room murder? I’ve only come across _two_ of those before.” 

“It wasn’t even that cool of a solve.” Peter sulks.

Tony gives him a look.

“Okay fine! It was cool! But still! It’s Christmas!” 

“Okay, okay, I _promise_ tomorrow, alright.” Tony gets up, stretching his arm behind his head, glancing at his phone quickly. 

Peter smirks, “Did Ms. Potts get back to you yet?”

Tony sputters, “What? Excuse me? I don’t even know what you’re-”

“You looooveee her.” Peter teases, snickering as Tony swats at him but misses. 

Peter raises his hands in the air, “Hey, I get it. She’s super cool. And her taking on the Spider case is super badass. Plus, she’s pretty. Really pretty.” 

Tony glares at him, “I will put you up for sale, you know.”

“Jokes on you I’m worth zero dollars. Anyway, it’s okay. We’ll see her this Friday right? For the follow-up.” 

“That woman’s so efficient I wouldn’t be surprised if she got Natasha behind bars on three life sentences just tomorrow.” 

Peter’s grin widens, “LOOOOOVEEEE.” 

Tony just groans. 

 

Tony heads out to ask the mechanic at the local repair shop some more questions about the physics of his attempted heist. Peter meanwhile, decided that considering how long it took to cajole Tony into getting a Christmas tree, he was better off going to the store himself to buy the decorations. Because apparently, in their giant brownstone full of boxes with random bits of evidence and strange items, not a single ornament was to be found.

Well, except one.

But that was expressly off-limits. “It’s evidence for a case I’m working that happened in nineteen-thirteen.” Tony insisted. 

“Aren’t all the suspects _dead??_ ”

“What’s your point?”

Whatever, it’s fine. He has a visa with a truly ridiculous credit limit and the imagination of a toddler on a sugar high. 

In hindsight, Peter really wishes he hadn’t gone.

 

When Tony gets back home, it’s to an empty house. “Kid?” he calls, poking his head into the kitchen to see no one there.

Tony knows the kid’s excited about Christmas. Or, more importantly, he knows how emotional he is that it’s his first holiday without May, hence the over-excitement and well, over everything. He’s over-compensating so the grief doesn’t drag him back, but even with all that, Tony knows it shouldn’t take four hours to buy some Christmas lights.

He dials Peter’s number. 

“ _Call unsuccessful_.”

Tony frowns, calling again.

The call doesn’t go through. 

Worried now, he sends a few rapid fire texts. 

None of them deliver.

 

When Peter wakes up, the first thing he knows is that he’s hot. Uncomfortably hot. The next thing he knows, are that his wrists are duct-taped behind him to the chair’s back, his ankles bound tightly to the legs. He’s alone, in a tiny room with a glass ceiling and metal walls and it’s hot. It’s too hot, he can’t-

He tries to yell, for help, for Tony, for _someone_ , but he screams with no sound, the tape pulling at his skin. 

Peter can’t breathe.

He shakes, trying to pull himself loose but he can’t feel his fingers anymore and he can’t breathe, he can’t even scream. 

_Someone, please help me_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> yes, there is a sequel

**Author's Note:**

> We're in for a bumpy ride guys. It's gonna get angsty before it gets better, but that's half the fun! And yes, Tony's a bit of an asshole. But he's gonna grow, as is the point of stories, so don't worry, he'll be our golden avenger soon enough. And his friendship with our favourite detectives will blossom with time.


End file.
